River of Dreams

by Lynn Kurland

  Ruith nodded and followed him across the lists. Rùnach made a point of not commenting on the fact that his brother had put the book back into the pack he had been wearing but subsequently shrugged out of. He understood why Ruith had done so. There was no point in someone accidentally stumbling upon those pages full of evil.

  An elegant, impossibly powerful bit of evil, it had to be said, damn their father to hell and back a thousand times.

  “A turn about the lists,” Ruith suggested. “I wonder if it will take us near your lady and her bowmaster?”

  “Let’s go see,” Rùnach said, starting off on a circle near the wall with his brother. “And to answer your question, whilst it is merely Gàrlach I had the misfortune of encountering several days ago, it is Acair who seeks me. Actually, for all I know, the whole damned litter of bastard brothers is out there looking for me.”

  “Well, they are rather homeless at the moment, so I suppose that’s possible.”

  Rùnach smiled briefly. “Are you still enjoying bringing Ceangail down around their ears?”

  “It wasn’t me, it was Franciscus of Cothromaiche who was responsible, but aye, I do relive the moment now and again with pleasure.”

  Rùnach considered. “Miach claimed that Acair was slain by Lothar several months ago.”

  Ruith shook his head. “We discussed that very briefly when I saw him at Tor Neroche yesterday, being as I was on the hunt for you. Acair was definitely at Ceangail when last I was there. I can’t say I was paying too much attention to him, though I did note that he was very quiet and looked as if he’d been through something he didn’t particularly care to discuss.”

  “I don’t want to imagine what.”

  “Perhaps it was his escape from Riamh.” He considered for a bit, then frowned. “What does he want from you, do you think?”

  “The same thing all of them always want,” Rùnach said grimly. “Father’s spells.”

  “You know, brother, I have never understood why they don’t have them already. I went to Ceangail precisely because I assumed the spells would be in the library.”

  “I imagine they were at one time,” Rùnach said. “Obviously Father had put them somewhere else before we went to the well. I know without a doubt that he didn’t trust any of the lads with them.” He shook his head. “Those spells are the very last thing I should know whilst I have no way to protect myself.”

  Ruith stopped, then turned to face him. “Rùnach, I’ll be perfectly honest and tell you I wouldn’t have traveled first to Lismòr, then Tor Neroche to find you if I hadn’t felt an overpowering sense of urgency that you have these in your hands.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, brother, you absolutely refused to give these to me two months ago when you and Miach were discussing the idea.”

  “Things change.”

  “I’m not interested in this change.”

  Ruith rolled his eyes. “You’ve spent too much time with Soilléir. Stop being such a purist.”

  “I note that you weren’t so fastidious about not using his spells of essence changing recently.”

  Ruith snorted. “Neither was Miach, though he’ll just look at you blankly if you press him on it. He used several things at the well that he won’t discuss.”

  Rùnach rubbed his hands over his face. It was so damned tempting to take the book and just have a look at the spells, perhaps to see if he remembered anything of them or if seeing his father’s work again after a score of years might show him things he hadn’t seen before—

  He shook his head sharply, then looked at his brother. “No,” he said firmly.

  Ruith’s expression was grim. “I think you may wish you had at some point.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Better that you’re prepared if you discover that reason than not, wouldn’t you say?”

  Rùnach set his jaw. “I don’t want them.”

  Ruith looked at him for several very long minutes in silence, then sighed. “As you will, then. I’ll destroy the book.”

  “Very wise. I assume you’re staying for supper?”

  “After I’ve stayed for breakfast and luncheon, aye, most likely.”

  Rùnach sighed. Aye, it was indeed just after sunrise. “It’s been a very long pair of fortnights.”

  “I can imagine it has been, but whilst we’re out here, shall we work a bit? It might take your mind off that rather robust line that seems to be forming to court your future wife.”

  Rùnach choked. He managed to regain his breath without his brother having to slap it back into him, then he gaped at him.

  “My what?”

  “Well,” Ruith said with a shrug, “that’s a bit of quest to go on for merely a comrade-in-arms, don’t you think?”

  “What I think is I would be daft to think to wed the first female I meet after twenty years at Buidseachd.”

  Ruith turned and walked back to where they’d left their gear. “It worked for me,” he tossed over his shoulder as he started across the field, “but perhaps you’re just not as clever as I am.”

  Rùnach found he had absolutely no answer for that. But he did have a swordsman of decent mettle with which to distract himself for a bit, so perhaps that was all he could ask for.

  * * *

  Seven.

  That was the number of his cousins who had annoyed him that morning in the lists. Seven was still the number of cousins who had annoyed him as he’d left the lists. Seven was the number of cousins he would likely do damage to if they did as they threatened, which was to find Aisling and escort her to supper.

  Perhaps the look he had shot the lot had done what it was intended to do, for he’d managed to get Aisling free of the lists without anyone else having come with them.

  Family. What had he been thinking to make a visit?

  He glanced at Aisling to see how she fared. She was walking alongside him, looking grave. He reached for her hand and found it cold to the touch. He frowned but continued on along the path until they had reached his grandmother’s garden. He made certain they were alone, then led her over to his favorite bench. He invited her to sit, then sat down next to her.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “It’s a bit like being trapped in a dream,” she admitted.

  Well, at least it wasn’t a heroic tale with a lad from Neroche in the lead role.

  And then he realized that she’d said it in Fadaire. He realized that at some point he was going to have to stop simply gaping at her every time she did something startling. The truth was, she continually startled him, which left him, he supposed, looking rather less suave and composed than he might have liked.

  She tilted her head briefly as if she listened, then smiled at him. “He is dreaming.”

  “He—who?”

  “This tree. He’s very proud of his blossoms, you know. And quite aware of his place in the queen’s favorite garden.” She looked at him solemnly. “He’s taught me quite a bit of your tongue.”

  “So I hear,” Rùnach managed. “How exactly is he doing that?”

  “Well, I held one of his blossoms earlier, so now his words are flowing into my mind. I suppose that’s one way to describe it, though it’s not completely accurate.” She paused. “He has more to say than the one in the garden near your bedchamber, but I think that might be because he’s much older.” She smiled at Rùnach. “Have you never heard them?”

  “In my youth I could hear the trees singing here, but I’ve never had them tell me their tales.”

  “Never?”

  He lifted an eyebrow briefly. “Not anything I would want to repeat to you, if you want me to be entirely truthful. And if you want more truth, I have heard from the trees surrounding my paternal grandfather’s lake. Repeatedly. Perhaps not in the dulcet tones you’ve heard here.”

  She smiled. “What terrible thing did you do there?”

  “Fixed targets to several of them when I was a lad and used those targets for their intended purposes.”
r />   “I suspect they were happy to be of use to you.”

  “And I suspect they weren’t,” he said with a snort, “which you might believe as well if you’d been counting the number of roots that have tripped me up where roots hadn’t been but a moment before.”

  She laughed a little, and the tree rustled along with her in his dreams.

  Rùnach thought he might need to remain seated on his current perch longer than he might have suspected previously. How was it that a cloistered weaver from an obscure city in a country that reputedly didn’t exist could now be speaking to him with the bulk of her words being in Fadaire?

  “Do you mind?” she asked.

  He pulled himself away from his ruminations. “Mind what?”

  “If I speak your tongue?”

  “Only in that you haven’t yet taught me a like number of words in yours.”

  Her smile faded. “I’m not sure I want to teach you any.”

  “Then how will I fight your battles for you?”

  She put her hands over her face. He realized then that she was trembling, and he didn’t think it was from laughter. He wondered if perhaps he should have spent a bit more time with the fairer sex over the past several years. He was, he could admit without any undue pride, adept at picking up the purposely discarded handkerchief, understanding delicate flirtations engaged in over fans and nosegays, and unsurpassed at sidestepping blatant and unwanted advances from women who should have known better. But unraveling the thoughts of a woman who never quite reacted the way he expected?

  He was swimming in very deep waters indeed.

  “I realize,” he said finally when he thought she might never speak again, “that perhaps you were hoping for someone else, someone with magic perhaps or more sword skill—”

  She looked at him so quickly, she startled him. “That isn’t it at all.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m not sure I can admit to such craven thoughts.”

  “I imagine I’ve had many of the like,” he said, “so go ahead and admit your darkest secrets.”

  She looked at him then, her pale, almost colorless eyes full of what he supposed might have been a mixture of grief and shame, though over what he couldn’t imagine.

  “I was hoping to send the lad off, then run the other way.”

  He could understand that, perhaps more fully than she might suspect. After all, he’d spent twenty years hiding in the shadows.

  “Given that I hadn’t intended to take you with me,” he said carefully, “I’m not sure that matters.”

  “But that was before I ever considered that the lad might be you,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him.

  He started to tell her that she didn’t need to worry about that, but he was interrupted by her page Giollan suddenly appearing a discreet distance away.

  “Aye, lad?”

  “Your Highness, the king extends his invitation for you and the lady Aisling to attend him in his private solar for luncheon. He bid me inform you that unfortunately none of the princes your cousins will be able to be there.”

  “What a pity,” Rùnach said, wondering if the day might be brightening in spite of itself. “When does he want us?”

  “At noon, Your Highness.”

  “We’ll be there,” Rùnach said. “Thank you, lad.” He looked at Aisling. “Your bedchamber is just around the corner. What do you say to a wee rest before the rigors of an afternoon in my grandfather’s solar are upon us?”

  She nodded and rose with him, but she said nothing, which worried him. He supposed she wouldn’t run off into the woods on a whim, at least not without his grandfather’s glamour having told him so first.

  He wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to listen to what his grandfather himself would have to say when Rùnach announced his plans for the immediate future.

  He walked Aisling to her door, then studied her face to see if he could see any indication there that she was about to do something rash. All he saw there was a deep misery that he suspected no words of his would assuage. He would have drawn her into his arms, but he suspected that might not go very well. So he simply watched her until she apparently remembered she was supposed to be going inside. She looked up at him for a very long moment, then turned and walked into her bedchamber, shutting the door softly behind her.

  He turned and walked swiftly down the portico. He would have a wash, change his clothes, then take up a post in the garden outside her bedchamber door so he would be there to stop her before she did something foolish. It occurred to him that that was exactly what she’d done, but all he could do was say he understood.

  Completely.

  Nine

  Aisling opened the door and looked carefully out into the passageway. Finding no one there she knew, she stepped out of her bedchamber and pulled the door shut behind her.

  She had been in her chamber for all of five minutes, and that had been enough for her. If she didn’t find a place where she could walk in peace and escape her thoughts, she was going to have some sort of an attack. Despite their beauty and gracious manners, she was finished for the moment with elves. Dancing with them, talking to them, looking at bows with them: she was finished. Well, unless that elf was Rùnach, perhaps, but he was part wizard, so perhaps that streak of something wild was what rescued him from being just too perfect.

  Nay, the truth was, she needed peace for thinking—and her thoughts were not pleasant ones.

  She walked for perhaps a quarter hour before she could even face what was troubling her the most. She’d known it all along, of course, but having to face the truth was more difficult than she’d suspected. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Rùnach to go to Bruadair, though that was certainly the case. It wasn’t even that she had discovered that the curses she had lived under the threat of for the whole of her life weren’t true.

  It was that she was a coward.

  She had suspected it before, of course. After all, how many times had she slipped off into the shadows when another inmate in the Guild had run afoul of the Guildmistress’s ire lest she find herself in the woman’s sights as well? That had been in her youth, of course, but she couldn’t say she had improved since then. She had simply learned to keep her head down and not attract any attention.

  Nay, she had to be honest. She had ignored things she should have spoken up about. She had ignored the souls around her who could have likely benefitted from her aid, even in the smallest measure. She had been a coward of the worst sort.

  Things hadn’t changed recently. She had had her quest thrust upon her, true, but she had been, in the back of her mind, in the place where she kept her most difficult-to-look-at thoughts, fully prepared to find a rough lad and send him off to Taigh Hall without another thought whilst she ran off in a different direction entirely. She had made plans, in a different place in her mind where she visited slightly more often, to hoard the peddler’s gold he’d intended for her until she could find a safe place, a little village where she could do whatever work was available and earn enough money to feed and clothe herself.

  But return to Bruadair?

  Not if her life depended on it.

  She wasn’t sure anything had changed, if she were to be completely honest with herself. The very last thing she wanted to do was go anywhere near the place.

  Courage is not the absence of fear.

  She was fairly sure she’d read that somewhere, buried in amongst Weger’s strictures, perhaps. The problem was, she wasn’t afraid.

  She was paralyzed with terror.

  To call Beul a hellhole was to sadly understate its flaws. It was the embodiment of misery, street after street full of hopeless souls wandering aimlessly through lives so bleak, she would fall on the nearest sword before she would become one of them again. Just thinking about her own life where the days had been filled with endless toil and there had never been any thought of anything else—

  She turned a corner, then pulled back immediately. Rùnach was stan
ding there with his brother. She leaned forward and looked again, but they had their backs to her. Though she couldn’t see their faces, she knew well enough what they looked like. They looked to be of the same age and resembled each other closely enough that no one would have any trouble knowing they were brothers, scarred as Rùnach was.

  That was where the similarities ended. Ruith had been a perfect gentleman earlier in the lists, and she couldn’t imagine there would be a soul in the world who wouldn’t have been happy to pass any number of hours in his pleasant company. Yet even with that, she preferred Rùnach. He had an elegance about him that his brother did not, something she supposed that had been honed very well in the palace behind her: a fondness for a well-turned phrase, pleasure in fine music and tasty edibles, and a wry sense of humor it hadn’t taken her any time at all to learn to appreciate.

  Well, all those fine qualities augmented by the fact that he was obviously going to do what she should have been willing to do without waiting for her even to have the courage to leave her room.

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled back behind the corner. Perhaps she wouldn’t go with him all the way to Bruadair, but she would at least tell him what she’d been told and where he would need to go first. Craven, aye, but who could blame her?

  Besides, no one had to know that she was so sick with fear over the thought of returning home that her legs were like jelly beneath her and she thought she might lose the lovely breakfast she’d ingested a pair of hours earlier. She could send Rùnach off into the darkness, then disappear where no one would ever find her again.

  After all, it was what she did best. She had spent a score of years as a virtual prisoner in a Guild where the work never ended, and she had absolutely no desire to endure it for even a single day more. If cowardice saved her from that fate, then so be it.

  Though she had the feeling Weger wouldn’t have approved of that thinking, and he would have told her as much quite loudly whilst at the same time telling her to stop looking at the ground.