River of Dreams

by Lynn Kurland

  “Thank you, Grandfather.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Rùnach.”

  Rùnach bowed to his grandfather as he left, then considered. He could lean negligently against the wall until Sìle was out of sight, then trot back to his bedchamber, true, but there was food downstairs and that book that apparently his grandfather had set aside especially for him. He supposed he could safely concede that if his mother had been the one to feed the fires of his unwholesome curiosity, his grandfather had been the one behind her chopping the wood. The difference lay only in their method of enticing him. His mother had always sent him on a hunt of sorts, laying out clues, dropping little hints here and there about a tangle she was convinced only he could unravel.

  Sìle, on the other hand, had been far less subtle. Rùnach couldn’t begin to count the number of times his grandfather had simply come to stand next to wherever Rùnach had been reading only to hand him a scrap of paper outlining some question that needed answering. That had without fail been accompanied by Sìle wondering if there might be a lad in the palace equal to solving the problem.

  The quandaries had been simple ones at first with most of the answer provided in the query. As time had marched relentlessly on, the queries had become more and more vague and the solutions exponentially more difficult to come by. In the end, Sìle had limited himself to a word or two and an eyebrow raised in challenge, leaving Rùnach to search out or invent the most mighty piece of magic possible to unravel the tangle.

  His grandfather, he had to admit, was a sterling soul.

  And if Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn had provided him with a little something in the library, who was he not to seek that out? His own mystery, he suspected, would keep for another hour or two.

  The king’s library was a marvelous place containing a staggering number of books in a setting made for reading and researching in comfort. Rùnach walked in and sighed a little at the sight that greeted him. A fire burned continually in the hearth, inviting the weary scholar to seek his ease in one of the chairs there and take his time with whatever tome had been selected. There were tables and chairs aplenty as well, which there needed to be. Past the reading area the stacks of books not visible from where he stood stretched back under the palace in lengthy rows. But those were just the things collected for general use. The most interesting things were to be found behind the velvet ropes and imposing desk of the master librarian, Leabhrach, who stood at his post to Rùnach’s right.

  Rùnach went to greet the man he’d spent half a lifetime trying to woo.

  “Master Leabhrach,” Rùnach said pleasantly.

  “Your Highness,” Leabhrach said, sounding almost cheerful, if such a thing were possible. “Your grandfather was here earlier and told me I could expect you. What can I find for you?”

  Rùnach leaned his hip against the desk Leabhrach used more as a barricade than anything else. “I’m not exactly sure,” he said carefully. “I’ve read most of what we have over there in the stacks for general consumption, and you have been kind enough to bring me scores of things from behind your rope there.”

  Leabhrach looked torn between accepting the thanks and defending his domain. “His Majesty is very particular about his books.”

  “As well he should be.” And Rùnach would save asking for what his grandfather had left for him until he’d had a few other things first for his trouble. He lowered his voice. “The truth is, my errand is private and extreme discretion is an absolute must.”

  Leabhrach’s ears perked up. “I understand discretion.”

  “You are famous for it,” Rùnach said honestly. Most would have termed it pigheadedness completely unnecessary for any given circumstance but Rùnach knew on which side his toast was buttered, as the saying went. “I don’t think I would be remiss in considering you the only man who can help me with my present business.”

  Flattery was apparently winning the day. Leabhrach unhooked the rope.

  “How can I assist you?”

  Rùnach considered the opening, trying not to smile at the memories of all the times he had unhooked that rope for himself—when he’d bothered to instead of simply vaulting over it—then walked through and paused. “I am looking for legends,” he said, supposing that was as good a place to begin as any. “Legends about places hidden, histories of countries that might not be so well known.”

  Leabhrach beamed. “This way, Your Highness.”

  Rùnach was happy to follow.

  He spent half an hour in the stacks behind the gilt rope, stacks he knew as thoroughly as he knew the scars on the back of his hands. He never would have told Leabhrach that, though. No sense in not leaving the man his pride. If Leabhrach had had any inkling how many times his kingdom had been invaded, he might have been feistier than he was already. Besides, there was something to be said for having the aid of the man who knew and had read all but the most private of journals kept by the king and his relations.

  Rùnach collected a handful of obscure history books and one having to do with myths. He was fairly sure he wouldn’t read about any relatives in the last one, which he supposed he should have found comforting.

  “Your grandfather left something for you, Prince Rùnach,” Leabhrach said after he’d fastened the rope back up behind Rùnach. “I’ll fetch it for you.”

  Rùnach didn’t suppose he dared hope for anything that wouldn’t break his back to cart across the room, but Leabhrach returned and handed him a slim, unadorned volume without any markings or title on the cover.

  “He removed this from his own particular case that only he has the key to,” Leabhrach said. “Very precious, indeed.”

  “I’ll be careful with it.”

  “I wouldn’t presume to suggest such a thing myself, but I do agree that that might be wise.”

  Rùnach nodded, then walked over to the fire. He set his books down next to a bit of breakfast on a low table, then made himself at home in one of the comfortable chairs there. He considered, then decided he would start with the least interesting book and work his way through the stack, leaving his grandfather’s offering for last.

  By the time he’d worked his way through half a dozen things, he realized that the thing that surprised him the most about Bruadair was how little was known about the place. It wasn’t an insignificant territory. From what he could see, it had been a thousand years since any Bruadairian king had sat on the Council of Kings until King Frèam had done so half a century earlier. His voice there had been silent until a little over a score of years ago when his only contribution to the proceedings had been the addition of a single aye when asked if he wanted to have Morag of An-uallach take over his seat for him.

  Rùnach paused and considered the unlikelihood of that. Perhaps Morag had had a sword in Frèam’s back at the time to wring such a statement from him. After that one reference, the entire country had simply faded into obscurity.

  As if it had disappeared into a dream.

  He frowned thoughtfully as he reached for the unmarked book his grandsire had set aside for him. He didn’t dare speculate on its age nor its origin. The cover was, as he’d noted before, unadorned. The pages were gilt with gold, however, and the book was bound not only with very fine thread, but a hint of spells he wasn’t familiar with.

  He smiled. A mystery in the offing, apparently.

  He studied the spells for a moment or two, then decided that perhaps their deciphering would be aided by a peek inside the book itself. He took a deep breath, then opened the front cover. There was a title there, to be sure, written in beautiful golden scrollwork and again laced with spells.

  He read the title, then closed his eyes briefly. He and his grandfather would have words, and sooner rather than later.

  He read the entire tome, of course, because that’s what he did when presented with a literary gift of unimaginable value. He supposed he was surprised by what he read, though perhaps less surprised than he would have been if he hadn’t spent twenty years in the company of Soill�
�ir of Cothromaiche, learning all sorts of appalling things.

  He had the feeling, however, that there was someone in the palace who might be rather more surprised than not at the things she might read.

  He closed the book, held it between his hands, and looked off into the fire.

  Now all he had to do was show it to her.

  Five

  Aisling stood at the door of her chamber and put her hand on the wood, feeling as if she were still in a waking dream. The only thing that had changed was the fact that thanks to that thread she had held, she could now understand a bit of the elven tongue. That very fact was a bit disconcerting, but she decided there was no point in thinking about it. If nothing else, her newfound ability made King Sìle’s glamour less unsettling than it had been when she’d first found herself inside the border, which was definitely a boon.

  Still, she couldn’t help but wish for a bench in some garden spot where she could simply sit and listen to the speech of the flora and fauna, even if that wouldn’t have aided her in finding the answer she needed.

  She had asked her maid how long she’d slept in that comfortable chair near the fire, but the girl had merely smiled and told her not long at all. Aisling had declined the tea and cakes the maid had tried to tempt her with and kept to her course. What she needed to do was find Rùnach and see if he would show her the library. Thinking about where she was and what remained still to do was like an unexpected spray of cold seawater against her face. She’d experienced that a time or two on her journey aboard ship from Istaur to Melksham Island, on those rare occasions when she’d left the captain’s cabin to venture forth for a bit of air. She took a deep breath, opened the door, then walked out into the passageway.

  A young lad stood leaning against a pillar, but he straightened immediately when he saw her. She jumped a little, then remembered that the queen had promised to send someone along to fetch her. Aisling looked past the lad into the garden that opened up on the other side of the portico, but Rùnach was not there. Perhaps he was in the kitchens, helping himself to lunch. She looked at the lad standing there and attempted to address him in his own tongue.

  “Do you know where Prince Rùnach is?” she asked.

  He looked momentarily startled, then he smiled. “Of course. I was to wait with you until he came to fetch you, but I can take you to him, if you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  She had no idea how to make small talk either in her own language or in the common tongue, so she was perfectly happy to forgo the effort of speaking in Fadaire and settle instead for simply accompanying the lad in silence. It was distracting enough to have the palace itself whispering at her.

  The lad led her along passageways and hallways, then finally down a set of wide steps. He stopped in front of imposing doors, then opened one of them for her and made her a small bow.

  “Safely delivered,” he said kindly. “I will wait without for your pleasure.”

  “Oh,” she said, taken aback. “I think I’ll be fine now.”

  He bowed again. “As you wish, though the king himself appointed me to be your page whilst you remain within our borders.”

  She blinked, not sure she’d heard him properly. “A page?”

  “To see to your messages and bring useful things to you,” he said. “Perhaps now I should fetch you and His Highness something strengthening, shall I?”

  “Ah,” she began.

  “My name is Giollan, my lady. I’ll return posthaste.”

  Aisling supposed there was no way to stop him since he was already trotting off. She turned and looked hesitantly inside the library.

  To her right stood a man behind a very important-looking desk, obviously guarding his tomes. He looked only slightly less intimidating than any of the other librarians she had met so far on her journey. She supposed it behooved her not to make an enemy of him right off, so she smiled, inclined her head with what she hoped was an appropriate amount of respect, then turned to see if Rùnach might be there, ready to save her.

  He was sitting in a large, comfortable-looking chair in front of a fire.

  A fire that whispered her name.

  Rùnach looked over his shoulder, smiled, then rose immediately. He crossed the room to her.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I had intended to come and fetch you, but I fear I became distracted.”

  She looked up at him. “Reading about myths, Your Highness?”

  “That seems appropriate in a place like this, doesn’t it?” He offered her his arm and nodded toward the fire. “Come and sit. The fire seems to know you already, so I won’t bother with introductions there.”

  “Did you hear it?”

  “To my profound surprise, yes, I did.”

  “Have you not always been able to hear?”

  “Oh, well, there’s a boring tale to be sure,” he said with a small smile. “I lost my sight—and I suppose any ability I might have had to hear as well—during a particularly unpleasant skirmish we won’t discuss here.”

  “Oh, Rùnach,” she said quietly.

  “Oh, Aisling,” he said in return. “You do realize that was three questions, don’t you?”

  “How did your sight return—and that’s part of the third question. And you owe me six answers, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  He took her hand and led her over to the fire. “Nicholas slapped a spell of clarity over me at Lismòr, and I’m the first to admit that that Diarmailtian magic is odd. I’m a little surprised it worked given my utter lack of the same, but there are many things that surprise me these days. And now I can see and hear all sorts of things I couldn’t before, including a fire that apparently knows you without your having been introduced to it. But let’s change the subject to something more interesting.” He saw her seated, then resumed his seat. He rubbed his hands together purposefully. “Now to my questions.”

  “Two days left,” she said, “no and no.”

  He smiled. “Volunteering the answers doesn’t count.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t. Did you sleep a little?”

  “I think I fell asleep in a chair by the fire, but I’m honestly not sure. I feel as if I’m trapped in a dream from which I can’t wake.” She paused. “The wood had many tales to tell.”

  “You poor gel. Did you eat?”

  “Nay, but Giollan promised to bring us something. That’s two questions I’ve given you absolutely honest answers to.” She had to admit she couldn’t help but feel a slight bit of relief knowing that she was almost out of danger. “What’s left?”

  “Will you read something?”

  “Of course,” she said, then she caught sight of the look on his face. Her words hung in the air between them for several moments before they simply fell slowly and softly to the earth and lay there on the fine carpet at her feet.

  Rùnach studied her for so long, she thought she might soon regret having spoken at all. Finally he reached over to his left and picked up a small book from off the little table there. The cover was unmarked and unmarred, but she could see even without touching it that it was very old indeed. He held the book in his hands for a moment or two, then handed it over without comment.

  Aisling took it, feeling somehow as if she had just taken her destiny in her hands. That was ridiculous, of course. It was nothing more than a book. An old book, but a book nonetheless. She reined in her rampaging imagination, then looked at the book in her hands. She glanced at Rùnach, but he was simply watching her, silent and grave. She took a deep breath, then opened the cover:

  A True History of Bruadair

  The book fell from her trembling fingers. She looked at Rùnach and saw the knowledge there in his eyes. A cascade of thoughts crashed down upon her, so many that she didn’t know where to begin sorting them out. All she knew was that there was only one thing left for her to do.

  She leapt to her feet and bolted.

  She thought she might have upended the tray Giollan was carrying as she
fled through the library doors, but she honestly wasn’t sure. Somehow, beyond any terrible thing the most fiendish of bards could have imagined to horrify the most jaded of listeners, Rùnach of Ceangail had discovered her secret.

  And now she would die.

  She didn’t blame Rùnach for it. He was fond of a good mystery. Bruadair certainly would have taken the prize for the most tantalizing mystery in the whole of the Nine Kingdoms. How could he resist the solving of it?

  She ran through passageways, through gardens, through gates that seemed to open just at the proper time to aid her the most. She ran until she simply couldn’t breathe any longer.

  Then she stopped.

  She realized she was standing in the midst of a little glade surrounded by stately pines. It took her a moment or two before she caught enough breath to lift her face to a pale, warm shaft of sunlight that fell down upon her, filtered as it was through Sìle’s glamour.

  The trees whispered of strength; the dark earth beneath her feet told tales of a deep elven magic that held nothing evil. She closed her eyes, tempted almost beyond measure to take up some of that magic and spin it into something she could wrap around herself and be safe.

  The fact that something such as that would have occurred to her was perhaps the oddest thing she had encountered in the whole of her journey to that point.

  She continued to relish the warmth of the sunlight until she realized that her breaths weren’t coming so frantically anymore. Perhaps they would simply slow, then finally come to a stop. She hated to clutter up Tòrr Dòrainn with her lifeless self, but she wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to get across its border to perish in a lesser place. She supposed that with enough effort she could determine which direction west was and keep walking that way until she walked into Ainneamh, but that seemed like it might take a bit. She wasn’t sure how much longer she had before the curse fell fully upon her.

  Though nothing seemed to be falling at present besides sunlight.