Dreamer's Daughter

by Lynn Kurland

  “We do,” Aisling said.

  “Then let me fetch at least something for you to drink while I get you what you need.”

  Aisling rose. “I’ll do it.”

  Rùnach didn’t argue with her. He supposed that she might have a thing or two to say to her erstwhile foster mother—or perhaps not. He wasn’t sure which would have troubled the woman more, but he had the feeling Aisling would determine which it was and do exactly that.

  He realized Aisling’s cousin was simply standing there, not watching Aisling go into the house, but watching him instead.

  “You love her.”

  Rùnach nodded. “Very much.”

  Riochdair studied him for several moments in silence, then nodded at Rùnach’s sword. “Lovely blade.”

  “It is,” Rùnach agreed.

  “Care to divulge more pertinent details about its maker?”

  Rùnach considered, then supposed there was no reason to not be honest. “Ceardach of Léige.”

  Riochdair’s eyes widened. Perhaps he might have made a noise of surprise at another time, but he looked at present as if even such a simple thing were well beyond his capabilities. He stared at the hilt for several minutes in silence, then turned the same scrutiny on Rùnach.

  “Paid a pretty price for it, did you?”

  “Actually,” Rùnach said easily, “I didn’t.”

  Riochdair studied him for a moment or two. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me more than that.”

  “I think it best not to.”

  Aisling’s cousin nodded absently. “I did the best I could, though perhaps that’s not as obvious as I’d like it to be.”

  Rùnach nodded slowly. “I believe you did.”

  “The Guild is a hellish place,” Riochdair said with a shiver. “I didn’t want to leave her there.”

  “Was there nowhere else to send her?”

  Riochdair looked as if he would have preferred to take that dwarvish blade and fall upon it rather than answer. He attempted speech several times before he simply looked at Rùnach, defeated.

  “Dallag has very strong opinions.”

  “I imagine she does.”

  “And then there was the dream to consider.” He looked at Rùnach closely. “Do you dream?”

  Rùnach smiled. “Only recently.”

  Riochdair looked completely unsettled. “Bruadair was once a land of dreams. In my youth, it was a very lovely place. But now . . .” He shook his head. “I’m not sure what happened.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  The man looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

  Rùnach leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “The king and queen were ousted two decades ago. Why?”

  Riochdair pulled back and looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “I’m a student of history.”

  More attempts at speech ensued. Aisling’s cousin finally settled for a few garbled noises before he managed anything useful. “Who are you?”

  “Someone your niece trusts.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “For my own purposes.”

  “Do you ever answer a question forthrightly?”

  Rùnach smiled in spite of himself. “Sorry, bad habit. My errand is private, but not nefarious. I’m interested in what you’ve seen. And who, if I can be that frank.”

  Riochdair considered his clasped hands for a moment or two, then looked up. “I had interest in the happenings in Beul, of course, because Aisling was at the Guild.”

  “Not that you would have gone to rescue her.”

  The man flushed. “I have children, as you can see—”

  Rùnach waved away his words. “I’m interrupting, unpleasantly. Please continue.”

  “Well, no one wants to see his country overrun,” Riochdair said defensively. “But what was I to do? I have no sword, no magic, nothing but the force of my commerce and position here in the village to bring to bear anywhere. I am the mayor, you know.”

  “I didn’t know. Impressive.”

  Riochdair looked as if he wished it were. “There are rumors that the current, ah, king has magic.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think he is evil and he wants nothing but the destruction of my country. But what am I to do about it?”

  Rùnach smiled gravely. “I believe, Mayor Riochdair, that you’ve done what you could. The fight now must be taken up by those who have the weapons to fight it.” He paused, then looked at Aisling’s cousin. “Have you heard any names bandied about? Sglaimir, of course, but any others? Anything unusual?”

  “How do you know Sglaimir?”

  “I’ve simply heard his name mentioned.” There was no reason to burden the man with anything else he might know.

  Riochdair glanced around him, but he’d been doing that for the past hour so perhaps it was nothing new. He rose and nodded for Rùnach to do the same. “Let’s walk back to the house,” he said loudly.

  Rùnach retrieved his sword and did as he was bid.

  “Sglaimir is very visible,” Riochdair said, almost under his breath. “Loud, brash, and cruel. But I’m not sure he’s bright enough to destroy an entire country.”

  “Have you any ideas who might be helping him?”

  Riochdair took a deep breath. “I’ve heard there is a darkness in . . .” He looked at Rùnach. “You won’t believe this and perhaps you’ve never heard of the place, but I understand there is a darkness in Ceangail that extends into Bruadair.”

  Rùnach put his hand over his mouth on the pretext of rubbing his lips. “Have you heard the name Acair?”

  Riochdair staggered. He looked at Rùnach in horror. “How do you possibly know that name?”

  Rùnach put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Smile and don’t be a fool. I assume we’re being observed.”

  “I imagine so. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

  Rùnach wished he could say the same thing. “I know many things. Where I learned them isn’t very interesting. I’m simply curious what you’ve heard and how recently.”

  “Why would I tell you?” Riochdair asked through a very tight smile. “I don’t even know who you are, unless you feel a sudden inclination to share that information with me.”

  “I’m not sure the knowledge would serve you,” Rùnach said, “and perhaps ’tis a detail you wouldn’t want to have to reveal under duress. If I’m not assuming too much.”

  Riochdair shook his head. “I’m a dead man anyway. Have been for quite some time now. Men from the Guild were crawling through my house for days after Aisling disappeared.” He looked at Rùnach bleakly. “I told them nothing.”

  “Is that why you limp?”

  “Noticed that, did you?”

  “You hide it well, but aye,” Rùnach said mildly, “I noticed. What did they want?”

  “What you want,” Riochdair said wearily. “Tidings about Aisling’s father. I didn’t tell them anything, if that atones for anything I did before.” He paused. “I’m not sure it will for Aisling.”

  Rùnach wasn’t about to offer any opinion. That was Aisling’s forgiveness to tender if she cared to, not his. He belted his sword around his hips, then looked at Aisling’s cousin.

  “My father is Gair of Ceangail.”

  Riochdair actually took a step backward. “Why does she keep company with you, then?”

  “Because I am not my father.”

  Riochdair didn’t look at all comforted. “Then you know of the evil that comes from that place.”

  “All too well,” Rùnach agreed, “unfortunately. And though my father is contained, I have several bastard brothers who are at liberty to involve themselves in things that interest them. I can think of several who would give much to have their own country to rule.” Or more than just Bruadair, admittedly, but he supposed there was no reason to burden Aisling’s cousin with that thought.

  “And you think that has happened here?”

  Rùnach hesitate
d. “I don’t want to believe it, but I have my suspicions.”

  Riochdair gestured inelegantly toward Rùnach’s sword. “Do they know your parentage in Durial?”

  “Very well.”

  The man accepted that with a thoughtful frown. “You have no pretensions to Bruadair’s throne, then.”

  Rùnach smiled in spite of himself. “Assuredly not. Pretensions to making your niece my wife, most definitely, but nothing else.”

  “You’ll have to ask her father.”

  “I had considered that.”

  Riochdair blinked suddenly. “Wait. If your father was Gair of Ceangail, then that makes your mother Sarait of Tòrr Dòrainn . . . your grandfather is King Sìle . . . Sgath . . . Eulasaid—”

  Rùnach allowed the man to mentally investigate the branches of his family tree, then smiled faintly. “So it does.”

  The man looked as if he wanted something very strong to drink. “And you’re here for my cousin.”

  “And to see if a black mage or two can be set outside the borders like the refuse they are.”

  “I have no sword to offer—”

  “I’m not asking for that from you,” Rùnach said quickly. “Suggestions on where to find the man we’re looking for is enough.”

  Riochdair didn’t move. “I’m not sure, if you’ll have the entire truth, that simply telling the truth that I had no idea where Aisling was is enough.” He paused, then straightened. “I will offer my sword, if it would be useful.”

  Rùnach nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

  Aisling’s cousin didn’t seem in any hurry to go back into the house. “I don’t know much about that side of my family. Where Aisling’s father comes from. We’re related through our grandparents, so perhaps that’s only to be expected. But there was always something odd about them.” He paused. “Odd in a magical sense, if you want the truth. Hard to believe, isn’t it—well, perhaps not for you, of course.”

  “There are many odd things in the world,” Rùnach conceded, “and many normal things that take on characteristics we imbue them with. Perhaps that’s all that happened there. You say yourself that you didn’t have much to do with your cousins. Perhaps they simply wanted to lord over you an imagined bit of something they made up.”

  Riochdair nodded hopefully, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to believe just that. “It isn’t as if Aisling has any magic, is it?”

  “Why would she?” Rùnach asked. “Most people don’t.” Actually, he was continually surprised by how many people had at least some spell or charm tucked away in their cupboards for an emergency, but he supposed there was no reason to clutter up Riochdair’s dreams with that thought.

  “She has her father’s eyes,” Riochdair added. “Very odd, but perhaps that’s what leads them to make claims that couldn’t possibly be true.” He nodded toward the kitchen garden door. “I’ll go make that list for you. It might take you a bit if you’re walking, though I’m not sure you’d want to buy horses here. They’ve taken all the good ones for use in the city.”

  Rùnach assured him they would manage on their own, then walked with him back to the house and into the kitchens.

  Dallag was there, hissing at Aisling. To his surprise, Aisling looked rather paler than he would have suspected. The second thing that surprised him was the anger that flooded through him. He realized there was a hand on his arm only when it realized it was Aisling’s.

  “I am well,” she said loudly.

  He drew his hand over his eyes, then nodded. He let out his breath slowly, forcing the tension to leave him as well. He took Aisling by the hand and drew her with him after her cousin. He had no idea what Dallag had been saying to her, but he supposed it didn’t matter. The sooner they were free of the place, the better.

  He kept Aisling nearby as he closeted himself with the master of the house in his library. He forced himself to pay attention to the map laid on the table there and to commit to memory the places indicated. He supposed what he needed was something to eat, but couldn’t bring himself to blame his ire on that.

  Perhaps he was tired.

  He made the polite conversation required as they took their leave, but couldn’t deny he was thrilled at the thought of leaving the house and its occupants behind.

  “But my gift,” Dallag protested suddenly.

  Rùnach paused on the path leading away from the front door. He considered, then pulled the knife from his boot. He then took the echo of the rune his cousin Còir had gifted him and caught it on the tip of the blade. He turned, flung that shadow up over the doorway of Dallag’s house, then nodded to Riochdair before he turned to Aisling.

  “Finished?”

  “I think we’d best be.” She glanced at the rune over the door, then looked at him. “A rune of opening?”

  “’Tis a pretty thing, isn’t it?”

  She smiled and it was as if the entire world around her smiled as well. “It was just an echo of one, though, wasn’t it?”

  “It would appear so.”

  “Has it any efficacy left, do you suppose?”

  “They won’t ever manage to shut their damned front door, that’s what I suppose.”

  She reached for his hand. “I love you. And let’s go before Dallag realizes what you’ve given her.”

  “I think we should pause and discuss your feelings for me,” he said. “I’m always more interested in that than endlessly open front doors.”

  She only smiled and pulled on him. “I need to be away from here before I’m no longer successful in stifling my reaction to your gift. And look, here come our horses.”

  Rùnach watched Iteach and Orail swoop down, then change themselves into horses with outrageously bejeweled tack right there in the front garden. He was half surprised the ponies weren’t staggering under the weight of it all. There were various gasps and a shriek or two from the house. He wasn’t entirely certain he hadn’t heard the particular thump a body makes when it faints without anyone to catch it, but he didn’t care enough to look over his shoulder and make certain.

  Iteach lifted his tail over the flowerbed but Rùnach stopped him with a look. Iteach tossed his head in disgust, but figuratively sat back on his heels and waited for them to exit the garden first. Rùnach gave his horse an approving look, then walked with Aisling out the low front gate. He waited until they were out of eavesdropping distance before he looked at her.

  “I wonder if we shouldn’t head back toward Beul.”

  She paled. “Why in the world would we want to go back there?”

  “Because I have the feeling Dallag wasn’t trotting out her front door to see what I gifted her.” He took a deep breath. “I think she intends to sell us to Sglaimir. We should give her a reason to think we’re headed in a direction we don’t value. Back toward Beul seems reasonable.”

  “And where do you think we should end up?”

  “Anywhere else,” he said with feeling. “We’ll double back under cover of darkness and find a safe place to sleep for a couple of hours. Then we can study Riochdair’s map and see where it leads us.”

  “And if Sglaimir finds us?”

  He suppressed the urge to drag his hand through his hair. “We’ll have to use magic.”

  “I don’t know how to use mine.”

  “Neither do I, but I think we’d best unhide ours and figure it out sooner rather than later, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Would Soilléir approve of that?”

  “He’s not here to give us that look he has that says volumes whilst he remains perfectly silent.” He found it in him to smile a bit. “I can’t imagine he would expect us to do anything but what we must to see our present business accomplished. And I don’t know about you, but I feel as if he not only applied a bit of patina to my magic, he applied mold to me. Do I look older?”

  She pursed her lips. “You look no more than a score and ten, and I imagine you’ll look that way for the rest of your life. How I’ll look in fifty years, we can only imagine.”<
br />
  “Ethereal,” he said with a smile. “Like something from a dream, as always.” He nodded. “Let’s go make a spectacle of ourselves in the town square, then ride off in the direction of Beul. When we’re a mile or two out, we’ll let our ponies do what they do and flap off into the distance. Perhaps we’ll even manage supper.”

  She nodded and walked on with him. He spared a glance over his shoulder, ostensibly to see if the horses were following them, when in reality he simply wanted to see what sort of chaos he’d left behind.

  The entire family was standing in the front yard, looking up at the rune that was almost visible, sparkling there in the sunlight. The door was, unsurprisingly enough, open. Còir would have been proud.

  He looked at Aisling, winked, and continued on with her. He was tempted to ask her what Dallag had said to her, but he supposed that was something he could safely put off for a bit. There would be time enough later to discuss that as well as runes, anger, and the fact that her cousin had been dreaming as well.

  He couldn’t begin to imagine how they were all connected.

  Nine

  Aisling sat in front of the fire on a stool, Rùnach’s sword propped up against the chair facing her, and tried to take her mind off her current straits by looking at the runes engraved upon not only the blade itself, but also the hilt and the crossbars.

  It was a lovely sword, to be sure. She studied the runes there and wished she had the skill to decipher them all. She supposed most of them were runes of the house of Tòrr Dòrainn, though she only recognized a pair of them because she’d seen the same on the backs of Rùnach’s hands. They were beautiful and sharp, as if the magic of Sìle’s kingdom had been taken and translated into something fit for battle. Beautiful and deadly, indeed.

  She frowned thoughtfully as she leaned forward to study things there that didn’t seem as familiar. She reached out to touch the blade and a different set of runes flashed. Not a lovely intertwining of gold and silver but rather a more sparkling sort of business, as if they’d been diamonds crushed beyond recognition, then mixed in a medium that allowed that glittering to be formed into lines and shapes that spoke of power and majesty. She considered, then smiled. Runes of the house of Ainneamh, apparently. She might have suspected that King Uachdaran had ordered those engraven there to irritate some elven king or other, but perhaps the truth was no more complicated than the fact that Rùnach had claim to both thrones in one way or another.