Spellweaver

by Lynn Kurland

  Ruith did as requested, then met Sarah’s eyes as he laid a blanket over her. “You’ve spent your last night without me within arm’s reach, my lady.”

  That she didn’t protest said quite a bit about her distress. “As you will, Ruith.”

  He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry for what will drive you there, but not unhappy to have you nearby.”

  She smiled faintly. “I daresay you aren’t, but I shouldn’t expect anything else.”

  He smiled in return, then moved his stool closer to her and sat down. He waited until she had closed her eyes before he spoke again, though he didn’t dare hope she slept.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said quietly, “for the attempt.”

  Uachdaran watched Sarah for a moment or two in silence, then looked at Ruith. “How did she come by that?”

  Ruith had to let out a long, slow breath. “Her brother had come by my father’s spell of Diminishing. Well, half of it. She reached out to touch it and the spell assaulted her.”

  “Diminishing,” Uachdaran repeated with a grunt. “That was just a fancy way of saying hello to a man before taking what he prized the most. Your father did have a way with words.”

  “He did, Your Majesty.”

  Uachdaran fixed him with a look. “You’re going to have to do something about what’s buried in her flesh, lad. If I can’t heal it, nor can Soilléir with all his mighty power, there’s something to worry about. Since the injury came from your sire, though, I think you may have to give more thought to trying something of his to remedy it.”

  “I’m trying to discover the proper spell.”

  “Not filched from my library, you aren’t,” Uachdaran said pointedly. “And you’ll need more magic than you have at present, if you want the entire truth.”

  “I’ve recently become reacquainted with it,” Ruith said with a sigh, “which I’m realizing hourly was a score of years too late. Though the sources are powerful enough, I daresay.”

  “They are indeed, my boy, but the sad truth is, your grandfathers on both sides are mighty oaks with centuries of magic making to their credit. You’re naught but a twig by comparison. When the wind blows—and it will blow, son—you won’t stand long against it.”

  “Thank you, King Uachdaran,” Ruith said dryly. “Unfortunately there is no easy way to remedy that, so I fear I’ve no choice but to simply soldier on as best I can.”

  Uachdaran sized him up. Ruith watched him do the like and felt something slide down his spine. He might have called it unease if he’d been the sort of lad to worry about that sort of thing.

  “I believe,” Uachdaran said slowly, “that I’ll see you in the morning. In my lists.”

  Ruith blinked. “Do you have lists?”

  “Don’t you already know the answer to that?”

  Ruith smiled. “I fear, Your Majesty, that your lists might have been the one place Prince Mochriadhemiach and I didn’t investigate.”

  “Which is why seeing you there later this morning will give me an added measure of delight,” Uachdaran assured him. “We’ll spend a day or two honing your magic. It won’t build all the strength you’ll need for your task, but it will be a start. You’ll have to do the rest on your own.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ruith said. It was a very generous offer, though he imagined his gratitude would only last as long as his strength—which he suspected Uachdaran would ravage within a pair of hours.

  Uachdaran fetched mugs that turned out to be full of a deep, rich ale. Ruith enjoyed a few sips without hesitation. He imagined his respite wasn’t going to last long. He had his own questions for the king, but he didn’t dare blurt them out until the proper moment—and he was quite sure that moment wouldn’t come until he’d satisfied the king’s curiosity.

  It took perhaps a quarter hour before Uachdaran seemed to be satisfied that Sarah had fallen into at least an uneasy sleep. He looked at Ruith.

  “I’ve heard rumors that trouble me.”

  “Tidings of the well?” Ruith asked.

  Uachdaran shook his head slowly. “I’ll not diminish the gravity of that, but there are things in this world—old things—things that should have passed into the realm of memory but haven’t.”

  Ruith took a careful breath. “My father’s spells, for instance?”

  “Those, and other things. Mages, magic, mischief wrought by both.” He shrugged. “Things you might want to look into as you’re off roaming through these parts. But first tell me how it is you slipped out of the world’s notice for so many years only to reappear along with these unsettling rumors. Not,” he added, “that I’m accusing you of being the reason for any of it. You may be your father’s get, Ruithneadh, but you are not your father’s son. If you can appreciate the difference.”

  “I can,” Ruith said, with feeling. “And I thank you for according me the benefit of the doubt.”

  Uachdaran waved away his words. “Lad, I knew your father well. Not only do you not look particularly much like him—you look much more like your mother’s kin—you haven’t his heart. His damnable curiosity, of course, but not his heart.”

  “Curiosity is what makes a good mage.”

  “It also gets that mage’s fingers singed more often than not, but we’ll leave that for now. You were hiding who knows where—most likely in Doìre given your good fortune in finding that beautiful gel there—and something woke you out of your stupor and convinced you to move about in the world again. Go on from there.”

  Ruith nodded, then gave him as much of the tale as was polite. He had no reason not to trust Uachdaran, though he couldn’t have said that about other members of the Council of Kings. He didn’t imagine he would have many more hints from him than he’d had from Soilléir, but each one might add up to something useful in the end.

  He was completely frank about what he’d loosed in Ceangail, the fact that he’d discovered there that Franciscus of Doìre was a mage and that Urchaid, of places unknown and no doubt unpleasant, was a darkness that Sarah had seen clearly.

  “And that was before Soilléir worked whatever magic he had upon her and opened her eyes,” Ruith said with a shrug. “I’m actually surprised at the things she was able to see before then.”

  Uachdaran didn’t look at all surprised. “Shettlestoune is a place souls go when they don’t want to see. Or be seen.”

  “I will admit it was a good place to hide,” Ruith said.

  “I imagine you aren’t the first one to think that,” Uachdaran said, a little dryly. “So, you came to your senses in Beinn òrain, then decided you would pay me a little courtesy visit, is that it?”

  Ruith smiled briefly. “Actually, Your Majesty, I was hoping to find my brother Keir.” He paused. “He is the only one left who remembers what spells were in my father’s book.”

  Uachdaran stuck his chin out. “He was here, true, well over a se’nnight ago, with your sister and Mochriadhemiach.” He paused. “He went to see to their business with them.”

  Ruith felt a chill descend, though there was no reason for it. The fire was hot and he had warm ale still in his hands. He looked at Sarah, expecting to find her asleep, but she was not. She was watching him gravely, as if she too felt his unease. He lifted his eyebrows briefly, took a deep breath, then turned back to the king.

  “And have you had word of him since, King Uachdaran?” he asked.

  The king set aside his cup and returned Ruith’s look steadily. “He is no more, son. From what I’ve been told, as he was holding the cap of the well open for your sister to find the final word of closing, he was struck from behind by an enemy.” He paused. “Prince Keir then perished inside the well, drawing its evil inside with him where it is now contained.”

  Ruith bowed his head, because it was either that or make a noise of grief he couldn’t bear to. He hadn’t realized Keir was alive until recently, of course, so losing him should have been no great thing.

  Yet somehow it was.
r />   He lifted his head and took a deep breath. “I see.”

  “He died so your sister—and the rest of us, I daresay—could live.” Uachdaran paused. “Your mother would have been proud of him, I daresay.”

  Ruith nodded shortly. “She would have been.”

  Uachdaran rose. “I’ll go fetch a bit of sweet wine,” he said quietly. “I’ll return shortly, children.”

  Ruith was grateful for an old man’s discretion. He rose, then turned and put his hand on the warm stone of the mantel, grateful for the privacy to fall apart. He wasn’t sure he had wept, but he’d considered it. He looked up, after a time, to find Sarah standing next to him, watching him gravely.

  “I’m so sorry, Ruith,” she said quietly.

  “Nay,” he said thickly, “don’t be. Keir, of all of us, most wanted to see my father’s evil stopped. He was willing to give his life in return.” He managed a smile. “Indeed, I thought he had a score of years ago. This shouldn’t affect me.”

  “But it does, because your heart is not made of stone,” she said. She stepped forward and put her arms around him. “I’m sorry for it, Ruith. No matter what your brother would have wanted.”

  Ruith wrapped his arms around her and held her happily for several minutes in silence, then laughed a little. “I have been trying to get you into my arms for days, yet my late brother manages it for me with ease.”

  “Ruith,” she said, sounding slightly shocked.

  “He would agree, trust me,” Ruith said wryly. “He was nothing if not a realist.”

  She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. “What will we do now without him?”

  “Make do,” he said with an attempt at lightness. “I had counted on his memory, but perhaps that was badly done. I think I can manage the feat myself.” He paused. “Thoir might be of some use there, actually.”

  “Your cousin?” she asked in surprise. “Why?”

  “He was interested in my father,” Ruith said with a shrug. “He and Keir had many conversations about my father’s intentions, if not his spells. It’s entirely possible that he might remember things I’ve forgotten. At this point, love, it might be our last hope.”

  She patted his back. “I can see the spells, Ruith. We’ll find them all.”

  He looked down at her. “Taking care of me now, are you?”

  “Even the mightiest mage needs a nap now and again.”

  “A quote from Soilléir?”

  “My mother, if you can believe it. Usually said as she was drifting off to sleep in front of her fire after a morning full of mischief making.”

  He laughed a little. “You had an interesting childhood, I daresay.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she said wryly. She looked over her shoulder, then pulled away. “Here is the king with pallets. You sleep; I’ll keep watch.”

  Ruith had no intention of that, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. He helped Uachdaran’s servants set up beds in front of the fire, then watched in surprise as the king pulled up a comfortable chair and sat.

  “No sleep?” he asked.

  Uachdaran shook his head. “I’m an old man, son, and don’t sleep much any longer.”

  “Not even when contemplating a morning in the lists?”

  Uachdaran snorted. “Take your rest, little twig. I’ll see to you well enough, I imagine.”

  Ruith imagined he wouldn’t see to himself without at least a bit of rest, so he happily pitched his tent, as it were, with Sarah in front of the fire.

  He didn’t want to think about the loss of Keir or Mhorghain’s success in closing the well. Both were simply too overwhelming for a proper contemplation at the moment. He couldn’t bring himself to even look at the possibility that he was the last hope for finding his father’s book in its entirety.

  But he would have to look at it, and soon. He would, if he survived what he was certain would be an absolutely brutal stint with Uachdaran in some underground cavern where no one would hear him scream.

  He felt Sarah take his hand and lace her fingers with his.

  Sleep did not come easily.

  Twenty

  Sarah stood at the door of the king’s private solar and reminded herself that she’d been instructed to treat it as her own. Considering the fact that she was keeping company with a notorious spell-poacher, that was likely saying something.

  She walked inside, and found that she was still breathing and hadn’t been overcome by a nefarious spell designed to keep her immobile long enough for the king to come collect her and deposit her wherever he took thieves. Down to his lists, no doubt, to relentlessly show them where they had room for improvement in their magic.

  She had to sit down, even though she’d been sitting for the better part of three days. She’d been offered a variety of locales where she could take her ease whilst Ruith was about the heavy labor of being shown where he could make improvements in his own magic. She had passed a bit of her time in the library, reading obscure books that the king had personally selected for her, or pacing through the passageways, listening to the tales the stone had to tell her. She’d also sat on the edge of what served King Uachdaran as some sort of training field, though she wasn’t sure anyone would have marked it as such without aid.

  If the great hall had been cavernous and the king’s throne room enormous, the lists eclipsed them by sheer size alone. Well, that and the fact that once a body entered through the stone doorway, the stone sealed behind him and left no indication of having been there.

  She’d felt a little claustrophobic, truth be told.

  But she’d decided that if Ruith could bear the work, she could bear the watching. She’d occupied a tidy little stone bench near that doorway that came and went capriciously, and never lacked for food or drink. She had watched Ruith train during the morning on that first day, if training it could be called, building his strength without complaint.

  Actually, it hadn’t been done without complaint; it had been done with an attitude of thankfulness that she’d been sure hadn’t been lost on Uachdaran, though he’d not gone easier on Ruith because of it. He had tested Ruith in a thousand different ways, relentlessly, ruthlessly, far, far past the point where she would have begged for mercy. She had asked Ruith, when he’d been released to find water after countering ever-increasingly complex and weighty spells, why he was doing it. She had fully expected him to say it was so he could fight the mages out in the world who wanted his father’s spells.

  She’d been rendered speechless by his answer.

  “For you.”

  He’d made her a low bow, then turned away to walk back out into the middle of the uneven stone floor.

  She might have thought he was simply flattering her, or angling for another dance, but each time she’d had that thought creep into her head, she’d caught a look he’d sent her way, as if he’d known the precise moment she’d begun to disbelieve him.

  For you.

  It was almost enough to make her believe he was serious in his professions of, well, affection.

  There had come a point, somewhere during the afternoon of that first day, when she had no longer been able to soldier on so well. King Uachdaran had dredged up from some unpleasant well in his mountain home an entirely new collection of very vile spells. They had made her ill to watch them. Even Ruith had paled a time or two. He had called for a halt, then walked over to her. He’d pulled her to her feet, opened the door, then pushed her through it wordlessly.

  He’d shut it in her face.

  One of Uachdaran’s granddaughters, Dreachail, had seemingly been waiting for just such an occurrence. She had introduced herself, then offered the comfort of her private chamber for the afternoon. Sarah had accepted the offer and the distraction gladly. Ruith had appeared for supper, looking very much worse for the wear, but apparently having had the energy to arrange for a pair of gowns to be fashioned for her. She’d worn the flaming red one in spite of what she thought it might do for—or to—her hair, b
ecause she’d learned he had chosen the color himself. She hadn’t protested the crown, nor had she argued with him when he’d announced, after two dances with Dreachail, that he was down to seven.

  Never mind that he’d already danced with Dreachail the night before when she had been number nine.

  She pushed herself to her feet and began to pace, because if she sat too long, she began to think about what Ruith might be doing below, and she didn’t want to see any vision of the depths to which he’d no doubt been forced to descend. She wandered about the solar with her hands clasped behind her back until she found herself standing in front of the king’s map table.

  She wondered, as she studied it, if it was there for his own amusement or if he ever found it necessary to use it to plan battles. It was of the entire Nine Kingdoms, though the eastern part of the world seemed to have been given short shrift. She started in Doìre and retraced her steps to where she now found herself. It was surprising to realize how far she’d come and how much longer it took to ride a horse than to fly on a dragon.

  Ruith would have agreed.

  She noticed a collection of markers in two bowls, little carved stones for which she couldn’t see any especial significance save they were small enough to use for all sorts of representations. She held a pair of them in her hand for a moment or two, their chill rather soothing all things considered, then put the first one in Doìre, where she had first seen one of Gair’s spells.

  The world shuddered.

  She didn’t enjoy the feeling, but she had to admit she reacted to the otherworldly sensation better than she had in times past. She took her courage in hand, then considered the next place they’d seen a spell—or, rather, the imprint of one, in Lord Connail’s solar. It was with hardly any flinching at all that she marked the spot where they’d found a spell in that farmer’s barn. Marking the spot on the plains of Ailean was easily done as well.