by Lynn Kurland
“A spell of essence changing?” Aisling asked in surprise.
Soilléir rubbed his hands together uncomfortably, as if he had perhaps used one too many of those spells over the years. “Not exactly,” he said carefully. “I think you could use Uachdaran’s spell of burying if you needed something extra in a moment of desperation, but I’m not sure how dwarvish spells will behave on enspelled Bruadairian soil.”
“And you’re certain yours will work?” Aisling asked.
“Admitting that will force me to confess how much time I’ve spent loitering inside your borders, a question that deserves more of an answer than I dare give you right now.” He smiled. “The easy answer is, aye, I’m sure mine will work.”
Rùnach frowned. “You’re hesitating. Why?”
Soilléir looked hesitant. “It is . . . unwieldy.”
“Inside your borders,” Rùnach asked, “or Bruadair’s?”
“Both, which leaves me a bit less comfortable giving it to you than perhaps I might be otherwise.” Soilléir said seriously, “But I think we have no choice. Dwarvish magic is, as you well know, straightforward and holds few surprises. Well, save what it might do in Bruadair, which is something I can’t account for. The spell I’ll give you is not a spell of essence changing so much as it is a spell of essence . . . altering.”
“A spell you dug up out of some obscure book you shouldn’t have been reading,” Rùnach said grimly.
“Just so, which is something you understand all too well, my friend. The spell isn’t evil, if that’s what troubles you. But it is unusual.”
“Oh,” Aisling said faintly. “And coming from you, that’s no doubt saying something.”
Soilléir smiled at her. “Aye, I suppose it is. Nevertheless, I believe both of you have the courage to use it. The courage and the need, if I could be so blunt.”
Rùnach sighed. “I’ve had my sight clarified by my uncle the former wizard king of Diarmailt, my person un-noticed thanks to the ever-helpful king of Neroche, and now I’ll be behaving in untoward but courageous ways thanks to you. I can scarce wait to see what happens next.”
“The world breathlessly awaits the same, I imagine.”
“I imagine so,” Rùnach agreed. “Very well, are you going to give us this spell, or simply use it on us and leave us guessing as to how we might undo the same?”
“Oh, I’ll give it to you,” Soilléir said seriously. “You’ll have to use it on yourselves, I’m afraid. Only the one who has fashioned it can undo it. That has its advantages, which I’m sure you’ll appreciate once you give it some thought.”
Rùnach supposed he wasn’t going to have to think too long on that. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and listened to Soilléir lay out first the spell in its entirety, then its parts and the sequence in which they were to be used. He was almost sure his ears were failing him.
“And you wouldn’t consider that a spell of essence changing?” he asked in astonishment.
Soilléir only smiled. “Are you afraid to try it?”
“I hate to be crass, but after having just had my magic restored to me, I’m not terribly keen to have you take it away from me again. So, aye, I’m damned afraid to try it.”
“Let’s just say this,” Soilléir offered. “It will put a sheen on your magic that—nay, let’s put it another way. After several centuries spent in Bruadair, you will both have acquired a certain patina to your magic. I’m simply hastening the process.”
“Several centuries,” Aisling said with a laugh. “Surely you jest.”
Soilléir looked at her gravely. “Elves aren’t the only ones who live long lives, Aisling, but perhaps that is something you can think on later, when your immediate task is finished.”
Rùnach thought he might like to think on that sooner rather than later, but he kept that to himself. He considered Soilléir’s spell, then shook his head. “How can that possibly be construed as hiding our magic?”
“I hadn’t gotten to that part yet. We’re still working on the patina.”
Aisling looked at Soilléir. “Who are you?”
“A collector of obscure spells,” Soilléir said, “which the connoisseur next to you understands perfectly. I think perhaps we should try now whilst we’re here at our leisure.” He looked briefly at Rùnach. “This might be uncomfortable.”
As usual, Soilléir was the master of understatement, Rùnach decided an hour later. It had been less uncomfortable than it had been profoundly unsettling, which seemed to be the word best used to describe the entire evening. If Aisling had spun his magic out of him and restored it to him in a great, crashing bit of business, Soilléir had him burnishing up his own magic in a way that made him feel as if he’d been stretched on a rack to the point where he could no longer feel anything. Before he could comment on that—or the fact that he’d been willing to do it all to himself—he’d dutifully repeated Soilléir’s spell of concealment that didn’t so much bury his magic as to simply set it aside as something not interesting enough to look at.
He promised himself a good faint from exhaustion later because Aisling was still to go and he had the feeling she wasn’t going to care for what Soilléir’s spells would do to her.
As it happened, it wasn’t Aisling who protested the spell, it was her magic. Rùnach would have enjoyed the look of consternation on Soilléir’s face, but he was too damned tired to. Aisling’s magic was elusive, almost as if it had been something hidden away in a dream. It seemed to look rather narrowly on what Soilléir was asking it to do before it simply shifted out of the way and allowed the spell to toddle on right past it. Aisling finally threw up her hands and indulged in a rather unladylike curse.
“How am I to manage this bloody stuff?”
Soilléir shrugged helplessly. “I would like to say I have all the answers, but in this, I believe you’re asking the wrong person.”
“You?” she accused. “You’re the wrong person?”
“I am not Bruadairian,” he said, “my pretensions aside. I’ll give you all the spells I know for hiding magic, but you and your magic will apparently need to come to some sort of understanding about them yourselves.”
She looked at Rùnach. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”
“I think that’s only going to get worse,” Rùnach said, wishing he didn’t believe the same.
“Perhaps one more go,” Soilléir suggested. “Put your foot down with the stuff, Aisling, or it will run roughshod over you forever.”
She took a deep breath, then tried Soilléir’s spell again. Rùnach was a bit surprised by how much he could see, for he did see her magic sigh lightly and step behind her, in a manner of speaking. It pulled itself into itself before it was simply no longer there. As if it had been a dream that had been vivid enough to touch for a bit, then disappeared as most dreams did. He looked at Aisling quickly but she was neither weeping nor panicked. She looked simply as if she was in terrible need of a good night’s sleep.
“Well done,” Soilléir said, looking perhaps more relieved than he realized. “Now all that’s left is to get yourselves to the border. I believe, if you don’t mind, I’ll come along at least that far.”
Rùnach looked at him in surprise. “Will you?”
Soilléir sighed. “Given how much I’ve already interfered, I can’t imagine one more thing will damage the fabric of the world overmuch. Besides, it’s just a ride in a sleigh. How much trouble can that cause?”
“Depends on who’s pulling the sleigh, I suppose,” Rùnach said with a smile. “I suppose Iteach wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
“If he is, I imagine I can find a pony or two here who might be up for an adventure.” He rose with a groan. “I’ll leave you two to your digesting and packing. Sweet dreams, friends.”
Rùnach watched him leave the library, then looked at Aisling.
“And?”
“I don’t feel well.”
“I understand, believe me. I think it will pass.”
&nb
sp; “I wasn’t talking about the magic. Or supper. Or anything I can almost bring myself to face.” She looked truly quite ill. “I’m not sure what to call it.”
He rose, pulled her up and into his arms, then held her close for a moment or two. “I always think the most difficult part of any daunting task is those hours that come immediately before the battle is launched. Once you’re in the heat of things, that feeling will pass. A good night’s rest will help as well, I imagine.”
“Nay, you don’t imagine that at all.”
He pursed his lips and pulled back. “Very well, I think it will take more than sleep to put either of us at ease, but what else can we do? At least we’re embarking on this business together. That’s worth something, wouldn’t you say?”
She leaned up and kissed him quickly. “Quite a bit. Though I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight.”
He wasn’t going to contradict her, but he imagined she would sleep rather well, actually. She had used not one but two extremely powerful spells that day and she would pay the price in exhaustion. As for himself, he could scarce put one foot in front of the other. There was something about Cothromaichian soil that was simply . . . odd.
He wondered just how they would find Bruadair’s.
Five
Aisling was grateful for the rain as she had never been grateful for it in the past. It allowed her to keep her hood up over her head as she followed Rùnach along the main street in Beul, the one that led away from the border crossing. For all she knew, her hood also hid the fact that she was finding herself increasingly incapable of drawing a decent breath.
“Breathe,” Rùnach murmured.
She would have tried, but she wasn’t sure she would manage it. Desperately sucking in breaths would have required more energy and attracted more attention than either of them wanted. Rùnach was already garnering attention enough by having styled himself a successful trader. She, however, was merely his servant so perhaps if worse came to worst, she could simply slink back into the shadows and escape death. Cowardly, true, but she didn’t think anyone would blame her.
It was the height of foolishness, of course, to come back to a place she had sworn she would never set foot in again, but she had a quest to fulfill. Rùnach had grave suspicions that his bastard brothers were somehow involved in Sglaimir’s affairs, and the two of them were mad enough to think they could accomplish what no one else could. Rùnach’s magic was buried. Hers, such as it was, was hidden with as much success as she’d been able to manage. She honestly couldn’t say she felt any different. Then again, she was so cold with fear, she supposed she wasn’t a good judge of anything. All she knew was that for all intents and purposes, they were walking into the fiercest part of a battle with nothing to defend themselves save harsh words.
Rùnach had discussed the twistings and turnings of Beul’s sorry streets with Soilléir after they’d landed, which had left her with nothing to do but wish that instead of riding Iteach to Bruadair, they had been riding Iteach anywhere else. Soilléir had left them a mile from the border, then bid them good fortune. Aisling had succumbed to the temptation to beg him to come along with them, but he’d only smiled and shaken his head. He had casually let it drop that he was off to find Ochadius of Riamh, peddler extraordinaire and instigator of all manner of insurrections, which perhaps said all they needed to know about Soilléir’s worries over the outcome of what she and Rùnach intended to do.
Crossing the border had been less terrifying than the last time, but only just. If Rùnach had felt any hesitation, he hadn’t shown it. He had simply produced the license Soilléir had given him, tucked a bit of gold discreetly into its fold, then watched blandly as the border guard examined their credentials with a practiced eye. If the gold went first up the man’s sleeve, then down into his glove, then into a pocket, who was she to argue? She was relieved when he simply waved them through without comment. It occurred to her as she slid past him that it was the same man who had pocketed her gold the last time. Perhaps he was laying up something against the time he would no longer be able to be so dexterous with his hands.
That had been almost half an hour ago. She had hoped at some point that her nerves would cease screaming that she was walking toward certain death, but that hadn’t happened yet.
“Recognize anything?” Rùnach asked.
Aisling pulled herself away from her unproductive thoughts and concentrated on her surroundings. Unfortunately she did indeed recognize where they were. It was the same street she’d walked along for at least a dozen years, perhaps longer, after she’d been granted one day a week of liberty from the Guild. She felt suddenly as if she were floating.
Rùnach’s arm was immediately around her shoulders in a comradely fashion. She was, after all, nothing but his servant and it wouldn’t do for anyone to think anything else. She forced herself to feel the cobblestone beneath her boots and breathe in air that smelled faintly of peat mixed with something rather more foul. That didn’t help much, but it was better than feeling as if she were no longer in her body.
“Better,” she managed.
Rùnach patted her reassuringly, then folded his arms over his chest as if he surveyed a battlefield to see where the best spoils might be had.
“Where now?”
She gestured with a shaking hand in the direction of the pub. “There.”
“Keep your hood close round your face,” he murmured, “and let us see what there is to see.”
Aisling felt as if she were walking over her own grave. She followed Rùnach across the street, avoiding puddles and the leavings of horses, then almost ran into Rùnach’s back as he stopped at the pub’s doorway.
“Out of the way,” a voice snarled, then interrupted itself immediately. “Oy, beg pardon, sir.”
“No worries, mate,” Rùnach said easily. “Doorway’s big enough for two, aye?”
Aisling almost tore something in her neck looking up at him. Where he’d acquired that less-than-posh accent, she couldn’t have said, but she fully intended to ask the first chance she had.
“Buidseachd,” he said over his shoulder, winking at her. “All sorts of rabble there to imitate.”
“Did I ask?”
He only smiled, then stepped inside the pub, bidding her follow him. She did, then flattened herself against the wall because it was her habit. It was suddenly as if none of the preceding fortnights where she’d acquired a spine had occurred. With the brush of her foot across the threshold of a place she’d spent every work-week’s end for at least a decade, she had once again been thrust back to a place where she was nothing more than a slave—
Rùnach put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her up to stand next to him. If he held her more tightly than was polite, perhaps no one noticed.
“Lovely place.”
She would have answered, but her mouth was so dry she wasn’t sure she could.
“No worries, mate,” he murmured. “This is just a visit, aye? We’re not planning on looking for a flat here.”
She looked at him briefly and saw in his eyes that he understood exactly what she was thinking. And perhaps he did. He’d spent his own share of time in places he hadn’t wanted to be. She nodded, then concentrated on breathing in and out. It also helped to remind herself that once they had found what they needed, she would never need set foot in her current locale again.
She took as deep a breath as she dared, then looked at the gathering room to see who might be there. Surprisingly, none of her usual companions was present. The table where they were accustomed to sitting had been taken over by another group, which for some reason was more distressing than perhaps it should have been. Rùnach nodded toward a table in the shadows. A barmaid met them there, took their order and coins, then departed with all due haste. Aisling sat down uneasily, happy to keep Rùnach between her and everyone else. Rùnach waited until their ale had arrived before he sniffed, then frowned.
“It’s terrible,” she murmured. “Sorry.”
&n
bsp; “We’ll find luncheon later this afternoon,” he said. “See anyone interesting?”
She studied the patrons as unobtrusively as possible. “I see familiar faces, but none of my band.” She found that her hand was shaking too badly to hold her cup, so she set it down and held on to it for courage. “You don’t think something happened to them because of me, do you?”
“Hopefully not. We’ll add it to the list of things to find out. And we won’t linger here, I don’t think.”
She wasn’t about to argue with that even though Rùnach was the match of anyone in the common room for size and she had the feeling he wouldn’t be matched in swordplay. That and he hadn’t been the one to enspell that knife down the side of his boot. Who knew what sorts of things Sìle’s spells might find objectionable about the conduct of the other patrons?
She sat with Rùnach for another quarter hour, then followed him happily from the pub, happier still not to feel a hand grasping the back of her cloak to pull her back into those well-used depths.
That feeling of respite lasted no more than five paces before she had her hand on the back of Rùnach’s cloak to stop him.
“That’s Quinn ahead of us.”
Rùnach turned immediately and pretended great interest in the contents of what turned out to be a shop selling what had to have been the worst meat pies in the entire Nine Kingdoms. Rùnach leaned closer to her and pointed in an exaggerated fashion at what was being displayed in the shop window.
“Who?” he murmured.
“One of my friends,” she said, “if that’s what he could be called. It was his trader’s license I used to cross the border.” She had to take a deep breath, which she immediately regretted because it acquainted her nose more fully with the smells emanating from the shop in front of them. “He knew the most about everything that seemed to be happening with the government.”