Spellweaver

by Lynn Kurland

  “Franciscus,” he whispered under his breath, then straightened. “A good journey to you, Prince Ruithneadh,” he said loudly. “And to your lady, as well.”

  Ruith looked at what he held in his hand. It was nothing but a blank sheet, but Ruith supposed it had been useful enough as an excuse for a quiet word. He rolled up the sheaf and stuck it down his boot, because it was all he could think to do. He thanked Eachdraidh again, then turned and walked over to the door to collect Sarah.

  Sarah, that gel from a no-name town in the midst of ruffians and thieves who had been guarded by an alemaster named Franciscus—a man far better educated than the average alemaster—who had suddenly discovered the ability to see, and who looked so much like a woman from a land of legend that a dwarvish bard had fainted the first time he’d seen her.

  “Ruith?”

  He stopped in the middle of the passageway, turned her to him, then gathered her into his arms. It wasn’t possible that all those things could pertain to her. It wasn’t possible that she was the granddaughter of Franciscus who was apparently the grandson of Seannair of Cothromaiche, the original keeper of the spells of Caochladh.

  Was it?

  “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m cold,” he lied without hesitation. “Let’s go find a fire and I’ll sit on your lap where you can comfort me.”

  She laughed a little and pulled back to look up at him. Her smile faltered. “You look terrible.”

  “Thank you. At least you’re so beautiful no one will notice me.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her along with him. “Perhaps Uachdaran has something to eat in his solar. It will give me one last chance to poach a spell or two, to make him feel as if I’ve made a proper visit.”

  She only nodded and walked down the passageway with him, her arm around his waist. She finally cleared her throat. “Something occurred to me this morning.”

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what. “Did it?”

  “I’ve heard those names before, the ones Eachdraidh told me about yesterday.” She looked up at him. “Athair and Sorcha.”

  He managed not to catch his breath only because he had self-control developed over years of austerity. “Have you? Where?”

  “In your grandfather’s garden,” she said. “The trees were singing about them.”

  He imagined they were, damn them to a hot fire. “Interesting,” he managed.

  “Do you think so?”

  “Aye, and look, here we are at the king’s solar. Something to eat, love?”

  She frowned at him. “Are you changing the subject?”

  He sighed, then turned toward her. He put his hands on her shoulders and bent his head to rest his forehead against hers. “I am,” he said quietly, “but not because I’m not interested. I would love nothing more than to find a grassy spot beneath the most beautiful fruit trees in Sgath and Eulasaid’s garden, stretch out with you, and in a perfectly safe place have you tell me everything you’ve seen and heard.” He lifted his head and looked down at her. “But here—”

  “You don’t have to say anything else,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I understand completely.”

  He stopped her before she pulled away. “I promise you an afternoon there, Sarah, when we’re finished with this. As many afternoons as you’ll gift me.”

  “Are we going to spend them with one of your eight to-be-wooed princesses?”

  “Seven, and they are to be merely admired, not wooed, so don’t make yourself too comfortable with your bargain,” he warned. He stopped himself just before he kissed her—which he wasn’t entirely certain wouldn’t have resulted with her fist in his gut—and settled for a chaste peck on the end of her nose—which only earned him a scowl she couldn’t seem to put any energy behind. “Food?”

  “Please.”

  He knocked on Uachdaran’s solar, then entered when commanded to do so. He greeted Uachdaran pleasantly, saw Sarah seated, then made himself page and served both king and ordinary gel the luncheon that had been brought. He finally sat down next to Sarah and looked at the king.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said seriously. “For all your many kindnesses. I’m sorry we’ve trespassed so long—”

  “Don’t be daft, boy,” Uachdaran said gruffly. “Haven’t had such pleasant conversations since I saw your grandpappy a pair of fortnights ago.” He squinted at Ruith. “But don’t think I’m going to make a present of any of my spells.”

  “I wouldn’t dream it.”

  “And don’t think I won’t be checking your pockets for the same before you leave.”

  Ruith laughed. “I would expect nothing less.”

  “And so you don’t have to ask, I shot Mochriadhemiach of Neroche a stern look or two on his way out my gates.”

  “Very wise.”

  Uachdaran chewed on his words for a moment or two. “I don’t like to poke my nose in where it doesn’t belong,” he began slowly, “my having ground you to powder in my lists aside.” He looked at Ruith briefly. “I give asked-for advice even more rarely.”

  “And if I were to ask you for advice, King Uachdaran?”

  Uachdaran seemed to wrestle with something—either his good sense or his conscience. “Then I’ll say this—unwillingly.” He looked at Sarah quickly. “We discussed your route this morning, gel, whilst you were with my granddaughter. You might have an opinion on it.”

  She shook her head. “If it leads to a spell, that’s all the opinion I have.”

  Uachdaran conceded the point with a nod, then turned back to Ruith. “I’ll say this much: I don’t like those at An-uallach, and that doesn’t come from Queen Morag’s, er, her—”

  “Commanding presence on the Council of Kings?” Ruith finished for him delicately.

  Uachdaran laughed a bit. “Inherited your dam’s gilded tongue, did you? ’Tis for damned sure you didn’t get it from Sìle.”

  “My mother would be flattered.”

  “She was a lovely gel, and I took great pleasure in sending the odd spy off after your father for her sake, but that isn’t what concerns us here. I would advise you to tread lightly. I wouldn’t go at all, but I haven’t your burden. Be careful with our young miss. I wouldn’t leave her alone there.”

  Ruith considered. “Queen Morag has six daughters, doesn’t she?”

  Uachdaran shot him a look. “That, my boy, is only part of the problem. The only saving grace for you is that Morag cannot shapechange. ’Tis the only thing about her your grandfather approves of, I daresay.” He opened his mouth, then shut it just as quickly. “I’ll say no more. Just be careful.” He put his hands on his knees, then rose. “I know you’ve packed your own gear, but I have a few things to add—to make your journey a bit easier, if you will. I’ll go see to them.”

  Ruith watched him go, then waited until the door was shut before he looked at Sarah. “Gifts and friendships where we didn’t expect them.”

  She shivered. “Why do I have the feeling this may be the last outpost of both?”

  You might be surprised, he wanted to say, but he forbore. In truth, he had no idea what the future would bring, nor where he dared travel save where his sire’s spells were to be found. For all he knew, Sarah was right, and they would never see the inside of another decent inn until their quest was finished—or they had perished in the attempt.

  Which, he supposed, was entirely possible.

  He rubbed his hands over his face and suppressed the urge to curse. He had received aid, but not what he had been hoping for. Keir was no more, Mhorghain wouldn’t remember their father’s spells even if he dared take the time to follow after her to ask, Rùnach knew even less, and the rest of his siblings were dead. It was just him, struggling to fight against things he couldn’t see and wasn’t sure he could master.

  It was a pity his father wasn’t alive. He could have walked up to him and asked him frankly if he was missing something. Perhaps the lad who was calling the spells had an accurate count of them. If he hadn’t kn
own better, he might have thought that that someone was a man who had a particular use for those spells.

  Someone like his father, for instance.

  Which was impossible, of course. He had watched that wave of evil fall down on his father and crush him beneath it. No one could have survived it. His mother hadn’t. His brothers had all been washed away save Rùnach, who had been spared only because his hands had been trapped under the cap of the well—

  “Ruith, you should rest.”

  He considered the floor at her feet and thought it might do quite well for a brief closing of his eyes. He kissed her hand, thanked her kindly for the suggestion, then stretched out in front of the fire.

  She reached down and smoothed the hair back from his face. “We’ll find what we need to,” she said quietly.

  He reached up and caught her hand, held it for a moment, then released it. “Aye, I daresay we will.”

  She sat back, but not before he’d seen the book she was holding in her hands. It was the child’s primer that Rùnach had found for her.

  He sincerely hoped that all that lay within was children’s verse.

  The sun was setting as he stood in the courtyard of Léige and bid farewell to the king. He and Sarah were wearing the cloaks she’d woven for them, but their saddlebags had been stuffed with warmer clothes and footwear. He watched Uachdaran hand Sarah a spindle as a parting gift.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, surprised. “’Tis very finely wrought.”

  “And doubles as a dagger if you touch that wee lever there and release the blade,” Uachdaran said, sounding absolutely delighted by the thought. “Very handy for a weaver in a tight spot, I’d say.”

  “I’m not sure where I’ll ever find roving to use on it,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, you’d be surprised what you can spin into warp and weft with it,” he said seriously. “Not that I know anything about making cloth. We would have our behinds bared to the cold stone if it weren’t for that young rogue from Neroche.”

  “Miach?” Ruith asked in surprise.

  “Carrying on his mother’s tradition of supplying me with bolts of useful things, aye.” Uachdaran looked at him mildly. “I think she felt guilty for having poached one of my spells in her youth. I wonder if her son suffers from the same affliction?”

  “I daresay,” Ruith managed. He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I could ever repay you in like manner, my liege.”

  “Ha,” Uachdaran said with a snort. “My liege, my arse. The deference—which would grate on your grandsire endlessly, I’ll warrant—is a good start. As for the rest, I’ll say that there’s something trickling under my mountain that I can’t seem to stop. When you’re finished with your task, come plug the leak for me. That’ll be payment enough for that quite useful spell of hiding you’ve been using so freely all these years.”

  “That is a very light repayment,” Ruith said, “for it is a very good spell, Your Majesty.”

  Uachdaran pursed his lips, then looked at Sarah. “If he ever convinces you to wed with him, child, and you fashion sons between you, make certain that they know that stealing is wrong.”

  “I will, Your Majesty.”

  Ruith watched as Uachdaran’s granddaughters came to wish Sarah a safe journey and found himself pulled aside. Uachdaran looked up at him gravely.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed anything particular about your lady’s knives,” he began bluntly. “Or dare I hope you’re as canny as you look?”

  “Outside of bearing interesting runes, they slice through spells rather nicely,” Ruith said with a frown. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you should know that the man who crafted those knives for his daughter-in-law first crafted that blade you carry for his son, as a coming-of-age gift.”

  “Did he, indeed?” Ruith asked in surprise.

  Uachdaran glanced at Sarah, then turned back to Ruith. “Oft-times daughters look like mothers,” he said. “Your wee sister couldn’t look any more like Sarait had she been Sarait. I almost fell off my chair the first time I saw her.” He chewed on his words, then stuck out his chin. “Morag of An-uallach wanted what Sorcha of Cothromaiche had—or what she thought she had.”

  Ruith felt his mouth go dry. “And just what sort of power does a dreamweaver have?”

  “It depends entirely upon the soul in question, for their magic is capricious in a way only those from Cothromaiche could admire.” He paused. “If you could go any other way and do what you must, I would advise it.”

  “Sarah believes there is more than one spell in An-uallach’s keep,” Ruith said, suppressing the urge to drag his hand through his hair or give some other sign of his distress. “I cannot see them myself, and I dare not leave her to fend for herself whilst I go make an endless and potentially fruitless search.”

  “Then you’d best keep her nearby, hadn’t you?” Uachdaran asked, though there was no sting in his tone. “And remember what I’ve said.”

  “I will,” Ruith said with a grim smile. He had the feeling he was going to be spending quite a bit of time thinking about all the king had hinted at. “You’ve done much more for us than I ever could have asked for.”

  “Well,” Uachdaran said with a small smile, “I didn’t want to say as much, but aye, I’ve been exceptionally generous to you, all things considered.”

  “I have the feeling you did it for Sarah.”

  “You might be right. And for your mother. And your wee sister, whom you’ll have to tread lightly around.”

  Ruith imagined that was true. He thanked the king again for his exceptional generosity, bid farewell to all others whom politeness required him to, helped Sarah put her horse in her pack, then watched as Tarbh changed himself into a fabulously bejewelled dragon.

  Uachdaran only shook his head and walked back into his hall.

  Ruith saw Sarah situated comfortably, fashioned reins for her because he could, then put his arms around her as Tarbh leapt into the air and carried them off into the night.

  And he thought about a sword with no message, magic worth killing for, and tragedies that involved other families besides his. They were all things he had never considered before and now wondered why not.

  He tightened his arms around Sarah and closed his eyes.

  And hoped he wasn’t flying them into a trap.

  Twenty-two

  Sarah walked alongside Ruith and contemplated the twists and turns of her life, things her mother never could have imagined, much less enjoyed.

  She was traveling in style at least. Not only were her traveling clothes made of the finest material, her boots were sturdy and warm, and her cloak apparently imbued with not only a bit of glamour but the ability to repel even the most unpleasant weather. Given that she was walking through a torrential storm up to the gates of an enormous castle that had suddenly appeared in the midst of equally enormous trees, she thought she might have been in a position to offer an opinion on that.

  Her method of travel hadn’t been without its discomforts, though she supposed she was the only one who thought so. The flying didn’t bother Ruith, though she wasn’t sure there would ever come a point in her life where she could attempt it and not shriek.

  Their mounts, or more particularly, Tarbh, had informed Ruith that he would wait for them outside the gates. He’d changed himself into a mighty owl and flown up to perch majestically in a tree. Ruathar, who had continued the journey whilst residing in her pack, had apparently been content to remain there. Ruith had been happy not to argue, pointing out the handiness of having a shapechanging horse nearby for potential emergencies.

  Sarah had had no desire to know what sorts of emergencies he might be anticipating, though she could speculate readily enough. She knew how King Uachdaran had felt about An-uallach and the queen who apparently ruled there with an iron hand. If there hadn’t been a pair of Gair’s spells there—and very powerful ones, if her sight could be trusted to determine such a thing—she was convinced Rui
th would have gone another way.

  Sarah put her head down against the rain, then noticed something she hadn’t before. She put her hand out on Ruith’s arm to stop him. She would have happily credited that small slip of parchment that seemed to glow on its own to merely lantern light glinting on wet cobblestone, but she couldn’t. She reached down, retrieved what she’d seen, then handed it to Ruith.

  “Do I want to know what that is?” he asked as he pocketed it without looking.

  “I imagine not.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Have you invented something for us here? Identities, I mean?”

  He sighed. “Queen Morag is a hard, shrewd woman with a very long memory. I’m not entirely sure she would recognize me, though I fear I look enough like the men of my mother’s family that she would infer some relation. I don’t think I can hide who I am.”

  “And who will I be?”

  He hesitated again, only briefly. “For your own safety, I think you’ll be a cousin, related to my grandmother Eulasaid. She had six sisters who reproduced prodigiously. You do look a bit like my aunts and cousins from that side and a pair of them were flame-haired, so the possibility isn’t out of the question.” He looked at her seriously from inside his dripping hood. “There are times when a title comes in handy.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that.”

  “Then Sarah of Aireachan shall you be and we’ll at least have a decent meal before we go off to ransack their bedchambers. And now that I think about it, the queen has six daughters.” He looked at her in mock surprise. “How fortunate for me that I might tick so many off my list in one locale. A dance with each won’t take more than an hour, leaving me well on my way to pursuing other, more interesting things.”

  “You would think,” she began severely, “that you would have other, more serious things on your mind than romance.”

  “You would think,” he agreed, “but apparently not.”

  Sarah supposed he was trying to take her mind off other things, but she couldn’t say he’d been all that successful. They were facing yet another gate leading into yet another place she didn’t want to go. Only this one, she was certain, wouldn’t lead to either the loveliness of Soilléir’s chambers or the security of the dwarf king’s hall.