Dreamspinner

by Lynn Kurland

  She would think him a myth, no doubt.

  “And you can’t let me help you?” he asked, though he didn’t have to see her shake her head to know what she would answer.

  “Nay, but I thank you just the same.” She paused. “I think I might need to search elsewhere.”

  “Tor Neroche, perhaps?”

  She put her hand over the uppermost book. “I might find what I’m looking for there.” She looked at him carefully. “A mercenary for my quest as well, perhaps.”

  He nodded, though he wasn’t as sure as he should have been about the potential for either finding the facts she needed or the mercenary. What he was sure of, though, was that Miach would have ministers from all over the world haunting his halls, trying to curry his favor. If there were a place in the whole of the Nine Kingdoms where he could casually mention a word or two and have an answer about its origins, it was Tor Neroche.

  “When should we leave?” she asked.

  “Now,” he said. “I’ll help you stack books.”

  “But you won’t look at them?”

  He looked at her seriously. “Is your errand so secret then, Aisling?”

  She let out her breath slowly. “I don’t know anymore,” she said, sounding more weary than he’d ever heard her. She shook her head. “I just don’t know any longer what to believe.”

  He watched her tidy up her small piles of books, carefully put Nicholas’s book in the leather pack he’d given her and filled, no doubt, with useful things, then simply stop and look at him. He settled her cloak around her shoulders, took her pack and his in his hand, then escorted her from the library.

  There were none but the night guards to see them out the front door, but he thought that might have been a boon. He stood on the front steps of Chagailt, looked out over the landscape that was revealed thanks only to the heavy clouds that seemed to shimmer with a light of their own, then looked at Aisling.

  “One question.”

  She took an unsteady breath, then nodded.

  “If you tell me the details of your errand, what will happen to you?”

  Her expression was very grave. “I will die.”

  He almost fell off the steps. Perhaps even more surprising than her answer was that he had absolutely no doubt that she believed it fully.

  He wasn’t sure that he didn’t as well.

  He stared at her, trying to mask his surprise, then took a deep breath, reached out, and gathered her into his arms. He was quite sure that she had never in her life been held, perhaps not even by her parents. She was stiff as a plank, but she wasn’t pulling away and she wasn’t screaming, so he thought perhaps he hadn’t terrified her beyond measure. He released her, then fussed with her cloak, pulling her hood up over her hair and adjusting the cloth over her shoulders. He would have to add thanks for new, quite serviceable clothing in that note he had yet to pen to the former king of Diarmailt.

  “Let’s be off, shall we?” he said quietly.

  She was looking at him with absolutely enormous eyes. “Very well,” she whispered.

  It was all he could do not to hug her until she begged him to cease. Instead, all he could do was smile, reach for her hand—which didn’t seem to trouble her—and walk down the stairs with her.

  He turned them toward the forest and hoped that his horse was waiting. He didn’t particularly care to think about the walk they would have if he wasn’t.

  I will die.

  He suppressed the urge to shake his head. The woman was a mystery. And as he’d admitted before to more than one person, he loved a good mystery.

  With any luck, he thought he might manage to limit his interest in her to solving hers.

  Eighteen

  Aisling woke to the feeling of falling. She jerked and managed to keep her seat only because Rùnach was holding on to her so tightly. She dragged her sleeve across her eyes, then looked into the wind, trying to get her bearings. The sky was rapidly lightening, so she knew she had slept yet another night away whilst Rùnach had obviously not. The only sleep he’d had in the past three days had been when his horse had deigned to descend from his heavenly lea to feed and water himself. She had spent that time demanding that Rùnach sleep at least an hour or so whilst she stood guard over him with his sword drawn.

  Of course, she’d had no idea what she would do if a ruffian attacked, but the sword had made her feel fierce.

  She leaned back and shouted over the wind. “What are we doing?”

  “I saw something,” Rùnach said loudly. “Someone waving at us from down below.”

  She couldn’t imagine how he could have seen that with the rising sun blinding him, but she wasn’t going to argue. She had to admit she was grateful to be flying and not walking, but still the thought of getting out of the saddle and using her own legs for a bit was a welcome one.

  Their mount didn’t seem to be particularly eager to land, but he was nothing if not obedient when Rùnach insisted. He took his time at it, however, as if he saw something that made him unhappy. Aisling didn’t see anything untoward, though she was surprised to find they had left the plains behind and had now come up upon a more mountainous and forested sort of terrain. She had never seen its like before, so she wasn’t unhappy to have a closer look.

  Once the pegasus had landed, she swung her leg over the saddle and slid down to the ground before Rùnach could stop her. She was so grateful to feel solid earth under her feet, all she could do was hold on to the horse’s saddle and wait until her legs were steady beneath her. She heard Rùnach jump down behind her, then felt his hand briefly on her back.

  “Stay here,” he said quietly.

  She lifted her head and looked at him in surprise. “Why?”

  He simply shot her a warning look and walked away. She considered, then removed her bow and quiver of arrows from off the saddle. There was no sense in not protecting Rùnach if she were able to, though she imagined by the way he had his hand on his sword, he wasn’t going to need all that much protection. Why he felt the need for that when he’d been the one to decide to land, she didn’t know.

  She eased around the pegasus’s nose, then stood there, an arrow fitted to the string. The horse put his nose in her back, as if he were telling her he would keep her safe.

  She looked past Rùnach and was surprised to see a lad standing there thirty paces away, a lad she recognized. She walked over to stand next to Rùnach before she thought better of it.

  “’Tis Losh,” she said in surprise.

  “What is he doing here, I wonder,” Rùnach murmured. He glanced at her. “Stay behind me.”

  She nodded, though she had a hard time not looking at Losh. It was such a surprise to see him there, she could hardly fathom it.

  Rùnach walked forward. “Losh, is it?”

  “It is,” Losh said, looking both exhausted and unnerved. He pointed behind Rùnach. “And what would that beast be, sir? A demon horse, perhaps—”

  “Nay, nothing so exotic, I assure you,” Rùnach said. “Why are you here, lad?”

  Losh came closer and held out a sheaf of paper. “I was sent from Lord Weger to give you this. He said he thought you would be coming this way and to wait for you.” He paused. “’Twas a terrible journey, this one.”

  “Did you walk?” Rùnach asked in surprise.

  “Nay, took the ship as far as Magh, then bought a horse and rode like the wind.”

  Rùnach took the sheaf of paper but didn’t unfold it. “Good of Weger to think of us.”

  “He is a generous sort,” Losh agreed. He looked over Rùnach’s shoulder. “And about your horse, my lord—”

  “Common enough in some parts, I’d imagine,” Rùnach said.

  Aisling listened to them make idle conversation, but somehow the words grated against her ears. Not Rùnach’s actually, but Losh’s. She realized she hadn’t spent perhaps enough time with him to know, but there was something about him that was…dark. She listened to him speak of his journey and found herself rather s
urprised that Losh had managed it, though she supposed if Weger had demanded it of him, Losh would have walked on hot coals.

  “But how much does a horse like that cost, my lord?” Losh asked, wide-eyed.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know,” Rùnach said easily. “He was a gift. And I am no lord.”

  “Oh,” said Losh, shooting Rùnach a sly look, “you aren’t, are you? A pity for you that I know exactly what you are.”

  Aisling watched as Losh disappeared and in his place stood a man with a terrible scar down one cheek. It was red, angry, matching perfectly his expression.

  Rùnach grabbed her arm, crushing the sheaf of paper in the process, and hauled her behind him.

  “We have nothing you want,” he said calmly.

  “Oh, you think not?” the other man said in a deceptively calm voice. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Aisling looked around Rùnach’s shoulder and saw something come tumbling out of the other man’s mouth, words that were black, barbed, dripping with something that she instinctively shrank away from. She recognized the words; it was the common tongue, only corrupted, twisting and turning. It reached out toward Rùnach like a mighty rushing wind, poised to swirl around him and take him prisoner.

  And then she realized with a start that the man facing them was the same one who had stabbed her through the heart with a blade.

  She stepped around Rùnach and fitted an arrow to the string. The man saw her do it, paused in his evil spewing, and laughed. That was worse, for the things that appeared in the air to join in his mirth were—

  “Don’t look,” Rùnach warned.

  “Oh, can she see?” the man asked, looking frankly quite delighted. “Perhaps there is something here I want after all.”

  “When I’m dead,” Rùnach said calmly.

  “Given that you have nothing to give me, as you’ve said, then perhaps that would be the kindest thing for you,” the man said. “Can you see what I’m doing, little lad, or is it just your wee wench there with the sight? Shall I make it visible for you and whomever else might be looking?”

  “I don’t think either of us cares,” Rùnach said dismissively, “given that anything you do would be—what is the word I’m looking for? Ah, yes, I have it now.” He looked at the scarred man coolly. “Less.”

  Aisling felt the arrow fall from her fingers and the bow from her hands. The words that were coming out of the man’s mouth were worse than the ones before. Those had been barbed, dark, dripping with poison. These were full of despair, hopelessness, and an almost overwhelming suggestion that she and Rùnach both simply give up. She felt rather than saw Rùnach take half a step backward, as if he’d been assaulted by a wind so strong he couldn’t stand against it.

  Aisling realized at that moment that there was something she didn’t want to accept as truth but could no longer deny.

  Magic existed.

  And the man in front of them was a master at it.

  Before she thought better of it, she put the flat of her hand toward him and set air to spinning. Perhaps it was Fate—or, more likely, simply luck—but part of the man’s spell became caught up in her flywheel. She knew that wasn’t the proper way to spin anything, but it didn’t seem to matter. The wheel of air didn’t seem to mind that it was pulling into itself threads of despair. Aisling reached for the hopelessness, trying to pluck a single strand out of the wave of it that was about to fall upon her and Rùnach both.

  Her hands caught fire.

  She looked down at them and couldn’t see anything, but they burned with a heat that simply wouldn’t abate.

  The man facing them laughed.

  “Well, what do we have here?” he said, snapping his fingers and destroying her wheel of air. “How in—”

  Aisling watched in surprise as he stopped speaking. The words he had been building into such a towering wave of evil fell to the ground in front of him, writhing like snakes for a moment or two before they simply stopped moving and lay still. She looked at the man in time to watch his eyes roll back in his head. He listed to the left, then continued to list until he fell over onto the ground.

  Another man, a younger man, stood behind him, holding on to a stout club. Rùnach blew out his breath, then put his arm around her and pulled her close.

  “Are you unharmed?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, finding it difficult to be clutched by Rùnach and keep her hands free of his cloak. “Is that one friend or foe?”

  “Friend, assuredly,” Rùnach said. He pulled back, then caught sight of her hands. “What in the bloody hell happened to you?” he exclaimed.

  She gestured helplessly toward the fallen man, but could find nothing to say. The pain was so intense, she could hardly breathe. She felt the world begin to fade. That, she supposed, was a boon, for it dulled not only the fire on her hands but the sight of what had been left behind by that…man’s…well, whatever it was he had spoken that had come out so foully.

  “Miach, help her,” Rùnach said, his voice sounding very far away. “Her hands are burned.”

  Aisling watched the man she assumed was Miach step over his fallen foe, then walk across the polluted ground. She looked down, wondering how he would keep the words from attacking him, then blinked in surprise. Where he had passed, he had left footsteps behind, footsteps of gold and silver. He dropped the club, rubbed his hands together, then smiled.

  The footsteps suddenly disappeared along with the remains of the other man’s spell.

  As well as the pain in her hands.

  Aisling looked at him in surprise. “Who are you?”

  He opened his mouth, then looked at Rùnach. “Who am I?”

  Rùnach gestured toward him with less elegance than he usually used. “This is Miach. Miach, this is Aisling.” He reached for her hand, then sighed in relief. “Healed, aye?”

  “When the words on the ground disappeared, so did the pain,” she said, though she thought she perhaps might like to wash her hands rather soon. She looked at Miach. “Was he a mage?”

  “Who?” Miach asked, looking quickly at Rùnach. “A mage?”

  “That man there,” she said, pointing behind him. “The one who used—” She started to say magic but she simply couldn’t bring herself to. “I’m not sure what he used. He was, however, masquerading as someone we know, else we wouldn’t have landed.” She looked up at Rùnach. “Would we?”

  Rùnach shook his head firmly. “We wouldn’t have.” He reached out and clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I think we might be well served to find a refuge nearby. Any ideas?”

  Miach said nothing. He simply pointed back over his shoulder, his eyes very wide.

  Aisling followed his finger, then felt her mouth fall open.

  A castle sat on a bluff, overlooking the valley below it. Well, actually it didn’t overlook, it guarded. She moved closer to Rùnach, because she thought she might like to have something to lean against if she felt any fainter than she did at present.

  “What is that?” she managed. “Where is that?”

  “Tor Neroche,” Rùnach said, putting his arm around her. “Seems a handy enough place to go, don’t you think?”

  She inched closer to him. “Will they let us in, do you think?”

  “One could hope. Perhaps Miach will find a way to sneak us in through the stables.”

  “Absolutely,” Miach said without hesitation. “Easily done.”

  Aisling found it difficult to look away from the fortress in front of her. She could hardly believe she hadn’t noticed it, though it was true they had landed at sunrise and she had been slightly preoccupied with impending doom. All she could do was look at the keep and try to keep her mouth from hanging open in astonishment. It wasn’t so much a palace as it was a bastion of security.

  “Do you like it?” Miach asked mildly.

  She looked at him and found he was as difficult to look away from as was the keep, though for different reasons. He was terribly handsome, to be s
ure, but she had almost grown accustomed to Rùnach’s face, so this Miach’s handsomeness didn’t affect her. There was something else about him, though, something she couldn’t find a name for…

  She let her curiosity slip past her without holding on to it and concentrated on what he’d asked her. She nodded toward the castle. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She considered it a bit longer. “I’m not sure it cares what I think.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  She looked at Rùnach. “We would be safe there, wouldn’t we?”

  “We would.”

  The thought crossed her mind that she shouldn’t accustom herself to any sort of security, not from Tor Neroche, not from Rùnach, but at the moment and after the morning she’d had already, she was thoroughly glad for both.

  She realized suddenly that the men she was standing with knew each other perhaps better than she would have thought to suspect, if the looks they were exchanging were any indication. She decided to question Rùnach, though she knew she would pay a price for it in answers herself.

  “How do you know him?”

  Rùnach sighed lightly. “He’s wed to my sister.”

  “That’s handy,” she noted.

  He smiled. “Aye, it is, actually.” He released her and handed her her bow and arrow. “And since we know him and he has at least access to the stables, I think perhaps we should be off sooner rather than later.”

  She took her weapon but couldn’t move. “What will they think when we arrive on that?” She nodded toward their pegasus, on the off chance Rùnach hadn’t understood what she’d been getting at.

  Rùnach looked at Miach. “Well?”

  Miach only smiled faintly. “I imagine they’ve seen all kinds of things that would unnerve and unsettle more rational lads and lassies. I wouldn’t worry.”

  Aisling looked around her, then frowned. “Where is your horse, Miach?”

  He gestured to the trees a fair distance away. “Left him there, of course, in the interest of stealth.”