The Dreamer's Song

by Lynn Kurland

  Obviously, they had arrived.

  She looked at Acair, but he was only studying his grandmother’s house thoughtfully. He reached for her hand, but said nothing. He was wearing gloves his mother had gifted him, supple black leather ones that Léirsinn wasn’t sure his mother hadn’t laced with some sort of spell to aid him whilst he went about his nefarious deeds. The pair she was wearing was equally well made—and no doubt equally enspelled—but she hadn’t looked at them past putting them on.

  At the moment, all she knew was that Acair’s hand was far steadier than hers, but perhaps she shouldn’t have expected anything less. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t climbed over walls in the dead of night before.

  “I’m not sure I asked you what you saw,” he said absently. He looked at her then. “When was it?”

  “Yesterday morning,” she said faintly, “at that mage’s house, and do you think this is the proper time to discuss it?”

  He shrugged. “A bit of distraction before battle.”

  She’d heard of worse ideas, she supposed, but not many. “I can’t remember,” she lied. “What about you?”

  He smiled grimly. “I saw the mage I stole that spell from.”

  “Did you?” she asked in surprise. “And?”

  “Nothing more interesting than that,” he said, “and fortunately for us all, I’ve decided it was simply my imagination fueled by my mother’s profoundly undrinkable coffee.”

  “You must have a good imagination, then.”

  “Either that, or she’s a terrible cook,” he said solemnly. He paused, then shook his head. “The man I imagined I saw looked damned familiar, I’ll admit, but I still can’t place him.” He paused. “’Tis possible but highly unlikely that I was too busy being startled to take a proper note of his features.”

  She wasn’t sure if startled quite described his reaction, but she thought it might be better to move right past that. “I thought you were just putting on a show to throw Mansourah off.”

  He shot her a brief smile. “Of course. It wouldn’t do to have him see my softer, less murderous side. One must keep up appearances, you know.”

  “Must one?”

  He sighed deeply. “In my business, darling, I fear ’tis all too true. Black magery is a ruthless trade. A terrible reputation is sometimes all that lets me sleep peacefully at night.”

  She was beginning to wonder if he ever had a peaceful night’s sleep, but she decided that it wasn’t a useful thing to wonder aloud. She didn’t protest when he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. If he trembled, he didn’t say anything about it and she didn’t point it out to him. She was too busy trying to smother her own unease.

  That’s all it was, of course. She was never afraid. She had faced feisty stallions and come away the victor. She had bested the demons that flanked her uncle—metaphorically, of course—and learned to ignore them. When she had realized that Fear was stalking her, she hadn’t run away from him or demanded that he leave her be. She’d told him to take a leaning position against the nearest horse fence and keep his bloody mouth shut.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t dealing with her fear at the moment. She was facing things utterly beyond her normal challenges with not a spell to hand nor any magic to use.

  She refused to think about how far she’d fallen that she was even considering the like.

  “Are you—” Her voice cracked and she had to clear her throat. “Are you ever afraid? In truth?”

  “Never,” Acair said seriously.

  “Not even now?”

  He snorted lightly. “This is akin to a bit of bother over having a fine dining establishment reserve the wrong table for me.”

  “You are a disgusting man.”

  He laughed a little, something she was fairly certain she’d never heard him do before. He sighed and rested his cheek against her hair.

  “And so I am. Clever you for seeing it.” He paused. “Would this be an inappropriate place to offer a maudlin sentiment about your own charming self?”

  “Completely,” she said. “Besides, you’ll just make an ill-advised comment about the color of my hair, I’ll be forced to blacken your eye for it, and then where will we be?”

  “I’ll claim I was in a brawl with a dragon. It will add to my rakish air, I assure you.”

  She imagined it would. She sighed deeply, then stood, warm and relatively safe wrapped in both his cloak and his embrace, until she grew too restless to simply stand about any longer. She pulled away and looked at him seriously.

  “What will your grandmother do if she catches us?”

  “She will embrace me like the long-lost grandson I am and shower me with accolades and kisses.” He paused. “Or she might send minions.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “You wouldn’t like the look of it either, which is why we shall nip in and out without any trace of our having been there.” He reached for her hand. “We’ll try the back entrance. No one ever uses it.”

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  He smiled briefly. “The minions are more terrifying there, of course. To me, that makes the success of slipping by their snoring selves all the sweeter.”

  “Of course.”

  She watched a squirrel scamper up a tree, then turn and chirp at them. It was as he spat out a bit of fire that she realized it was Acair’s horse. Well, he seemed to be settling in for the duration, which she supposed was all she could ask. She looked at him pointedly before she walked away with Acair, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time she saw the damned beast. It wasn’t as if either of them had magic enough to fly off under their own power.

  Magic. What a ridiculous business.

  She was beginning to see, though, why someone might want a bit of it.

  The forest was still and the air so cold she was almost certain she could hear her breath as it fell softly to the ground. What she did know with absolute certainty was that she was having no trouble seeing the spell that lay draped over the trees they walked under. She would have mentioned it to Acair, but she had the feeling he had enough to think about at present. The silence wasn’t helping her keep her fear in check, though, so she cast about for a topic that didn’t involve things she shouldn’t have been able to see.

  “Can you tell me about her?” she asked. She looked at him quickly. “Your grandmother, I mean.”

  “Of course,” he said easily. “She is Cruihniche of Fàs, that being the name of the land we’re crossing, and I don’t think it much of an exaggeration to say she is one of the more terrifying souls I’ve encountered in my very long life.”

  “Is she worse than your mother and your aunt?” she asked.

  He looked as if he couldn’t decide if he should laugh or shiver. “My grandmother . . .” He shook his head. “She defies decent description, though I could start by telling you everything she is, then a bit of what she is not.”

  “I can scarce wait.”

  “You say that now,” he agreed, “but tell me what you think after I make my list. What she is is a small, elegant woman, well-spoken, and old as the hills. She has a very long dining table that is endlessly filled by royalty, nobility, and hangers-on who wait months for the opportunity to take a seat. Her chef is beyond compare, her wine-steward without peer, and I’ve heard but never verified personally that she has wee faeries tending a greenhouse full of herbs and flowers used for beautifying delicate ices and cakes.”

  Léirsinn smiled. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

  “I’ve barely left the gates, if you know what I mean. What she is not is kind, merciful, welcoming, or lacking spells that send shivers of dismay down the spines of any number of rulers in the world.”

  “Does she use them?” Léirsinn asked, then shook her head. “Ignore that, mostly because I can’t believe I’ve asked that.”

 
; He smiled briefly. “You’ve resigned yourself to the realities of several things with a marked lack of grumbling, something I’m sure my mother made note of. My grandmother isn’t opposed to using spells, but she’s as spare with their use as she is with the amount of tea she’ll put in a pot to steep for family. Weak stuff indeed.”

  “Stingy or uninterested?”

  “Choosey,” he said. “She’s as up to her elbows in foul deeds as the rest of us, but that tends to be overlooked in deference to the exclusivity of her salon. Or so it has been in the past.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I’m beginning to think I’ve been too preoccupied with my own mischief to take the time to truly appreciate her accomplishments.”

  “Tell me again why we aren’t going to the front door and knocking?”

  He shot her an uncomfortable look. “I might have, as they say, nicked a knickknack or two.”

  She felt her mouth fall open. “You stole from your own grandmother?”

  “It was retaliation for her having criticized one of my favorite cravats,” he said promptly. “I took exception to her comments, perhaps a bit too loudly, which left her chasing me from her solar, then sending minions after me over her spike-topped wall. The hastiness of my exit resulted in a great and rather embarrassing rent in my favorite trousers. Revenge was imperative.” He shrugged. “I will be forthcoming and say that one of her doilies was also the price for a particularly coveted seat at an extremely exclusive table.”

  She could only gape at him. “You great whacking snob.”

  “The supper was unparalleled.”

  “As was, I’m sure, the company.”

  “I fear I must agree.”

  She felt her eyes narrow before she could stop them. “There are times—more often than not—that I can hardly restrain myself from stabbing you.”

  He stopped, lifted her gloved hand, and kissed the back of it. Gallantly, it had to be said.

  “That was before,” he said.

  “Before what?” she asked with a snort.

  “Before I encountered a pitchfork-wielding, red-haired dragoness, and that is all the sentiment you’ll have from me tonight. I fear to become too maudlin, lest you lose your resolve to vault over walls with me, something I think you shouldn’t be doing.”

  “You know I’m not going to stay behind so don’t waste your breath,” she said shortly. “You told Mansourah you were here for your granny’s book, but I suspect that isn’t the only reason.”

  He tucked her hand under his elbow and nodded up the path. “It isn’t, though I’m not particularly keen to discuss anything else lest listening ears I’m unable to see at the moment overhear my plans. You might want to keep an eye open for what we just saw recently, if you catch my drift.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was referring to pieces of his soul or something else, but she supposed having a look at whatever caught her eye as he concentrated on other business couldn’t go wrong. “Do you think you left something behind here?”

  He blew his hair out of his eyes, then shook his head. “My dignity, more often than I care to admit, but none of that other rubbish. The worst I combined here was plotting thefts whilst enduring grandmotherly lectures about my failings as a mage and a gentleman.”

  “Then perhaps I’ll just keep my eyes open for pieces of your pride.”

  He shot her a look. “You are far too free with those kinds of barbs at my expense.”

  “I am not afraid of you,” she said, realizing as she said so that she believed it fully. “Besides, I have yet to see anything that leads me to believe you are anything more than your average showy stallion.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I only hope such will always be the case, poor soft-hearted sap that I have been reduced to.” He nodded toward the house. “I think we might safely attempt a vault over the walls if you like, or we could simply try the gate.”

  “The gate sounds more reasonable,” she said. “I might need a bit more practice before I start hurling myself over things.”

  He nodded, then paused once more. “One last thing that should be noted is that I am here under protest. If I had to make a list of places I didn’t want to go, this would be the very last.”

  “Dead last?”

  He seemed to consider. “Let’s put it near the bottom—or the top, depending on your perspective. There are places I wouldn’t set foot in again if my life depended on it, which is a different list entirely. Places where I could go but really don’t want to go? My grandmother’s house is somewhere on that list, very near the top. Her hall is dangerous, but not necessarily lethal.” He paused, then looked at her. “Of course, that list was made with a pen dipped in a pot of magic, if you follow.”

  She had to admit to herself that she did, unfortunately. “Isn’t she Mistress Cailleach’s sister?”

  “You would think that would benefit us here, but I fear not. They are sisters, but there’s a reason my great-auntie is as far south as she can take herself without getting soggy. Well, that and my great-aunt is in Sàraichte because she thinks she might find someone with whom to have a—how shall we term it—ah, yes, a bit of a romance.”

  “Mistress Cailleach,” Léirsinn managed.

  “The very same.”

  “A romance,” she repeated.

  “The mind boggles, doesn’t it?”

  She smiled in spite of herself. “It does.”

  He didn’t move. “Should something happen to me, I want you to get yourself to her solar. I may or may not have taken a spell and slipped it into a crack on the underside of her favorite chair.”

  “A spell?” she asked. “Written down?”

  He shook his head. “One like what I couldn’t find in Odhran’s workroom. It will work, as that one would have, without any aid from me.”

  She nodded absently, because she wasn’t sure she had the stomach to talk any longer about things she wanted to avoid, then it occurred to her just what he had said. She looked at him and had to make an effort to keep her mouth from falling open.

  “You could use it, then,” she said in surprise.

  “In theory.”

  “And live.”

  “One could hope,” he agreed.

  “No wonder you wanted that other spell.”

  He nodded carefully. “Indeed.”

  She would have asked what the spell could do, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Either it dealt out death or turned whoever was in the vicinity—including her, she imagined—into mushrooms. With Acair, she just never knew.

  He stared off down the path for a moment or two, then looked at her. “You’re sure you won’t remain here and wait for me?”

  “How will you collect those flinty bits of yourself you left behind if I’m not there to look?” she asked. “Just so I know, is there some particular piece of mischief you combined here, or was it just general naughtiness and the pinching of doilies you should feel bad about?”

  “Well, I didn’t murder anyone,” he muttered.

  “What did you do, then?”

  He dragged his hand through his hair. “If you must know, I stole one of her spells, then stepped aside when she blamed my older brother Garlach for it.”

  She frowned. “That doesn’t sound like anything any other young lad wouldn’t do.”

  “I was thirty-five at the time,” he said. “A bit past being young.”

  She wasn’t surprised. “Is that all?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t be certain, but I fear she might have laid a spell on him that causes warts to spring up all over his face every time he sees a beautiful woman.”

  “How long did that last?”

  “It is ongoing.” He shrugged. “He’s not a pleasant man and this, ah, affliction of his has caused him to lose what little chance he’s ever had with even the most desperate of lassies. I should say th
at it serves him right given that he is completely lacking in any redeeming character traits, but . . .” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “I have suffered the odd pang of regret now and again for his plight, given that I was responsible for it. Or that might have been indigestion. I never can decide.”

  Léirsinn smiled in spite of herself. “Have you thought about just asking her to remove it?”

  “And admit my part in it? She would likely take the damned thing off him and put it on me.”

  “Couldn’t you take it from him?”

  “The better question is, would I? The answer is, now that I think about it, nay.”

  “Did you do a good deed yesterday?”

  He drew himself up. “I’m sure I did.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. This could count, you know.”

  He tugged her along with him down the path. “We’ll need to move forward in silence now. Spells everywhere and all that sort of rot.”

  It took her a fair tromp along soft paths before she realized what bothered her the most. It was one thing to walk into his mother’s house where she was fairly sure they wouldn’t die. It was also something to be chased by black mages but trust that Acair would somehow get them to safety.

  For some reason, she didn’t care at all for their current errand or the feeling of the forest.

  They were being watched and she had the feeling it wasn’t by Mansourah.

  “Acair?”

  He smiled briefly. “Ah, my name. How it rolls from the tongue of a lovely woman, aye?”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  “But hard to look away from, I know. You needed something?”

  “Does she know we’re coming, do you think?” She paused. “Is she watching us?”

  He shot her a look she had no trouble interpreting. She had the feeling he was just as aware of whatever was watching them as she was and that it most likely wasn’t his grandmother.

  For all she knew, it would be safer inside a witch’s hall than outside in a forest where a mage prowled about.