by Lynn Kurland
She was vaguely dissatisfied with that answer, though she wasn’t sure why. She frowned thoughtfully, then looked at the note the man pretending to be Losh had handed Rùnach. “What does that say?”
He unfolded the sheaf of paper, then shook his head. “’Tis blank, of course.” He looked at the man lying there unconscious, then at Miach. “I’m not sure what you intend to do, but I cannot aid you with that one.”
Miach clasped his hands behind his back and smiled briefly. “Not to worry. Perhaps Mistress Aisling would care to stow her gear, as it were, then you two could be off on the rest of your journey? I’ll catch up as quickly as I can.”
Aisling nodded, then walked over to attach her bow to the pegasus’s saddle.
Iteachhhhh…
She jumped a little, then looked around her. It occurred to her with a bit of a start that the voice in her head belonged to Rùnach’s horse. She stepped up to stand at the side of his head and look him in the eye. “Iteach?”
He tossed his head and whinnied.
She put her hand to her head to stop it from spinning. Truly she was going to need time at some point where she could sit and try to unravel truth from fiction, fact from legend. She stroked his nose and looked around her, trying to distract herself.
That was when she saw the body.
She walked past Iteach, if that’s what his name truly was, and over to a young man who was lying still as death on the ground some thirty paces away from where she’d been standing. She realized as she drew closer that it was none other than Losh himself. She sank to her knees next to him, then put her hand out and touched his cheek only to find it was still warm.
But she suspected he was dead.
She jumped to her feet and stumbled backward. She had never seen death before. It wasn’t something that happened in Bruadair, at least not where anyone could see it. She stared down at the lad in horror, then realized there was something tucked into the collar of his tunic. She thought it might have been a sheaf of paper, but she didn’t dare reach for it.
“Rùnach,” she called, only to realize he was standing next to her. He put his hand on her arm and pulled her back, away from the body.
He squatted down next to Losh, then put his fingers to the boy’s neck. He paused, then bowed his head and sighed. He looked up at her.
“Dead,” he said quietly. “And recently gone, unfortunately.”
She swallowed with difficulty. “That man killed him, didn’t he? That man with the scar.”
Rùnach nodded. He reached out and closed Losh’s eyes, then paused. He very carefully pulled the sheaf of paper out from the lad’s tunic, then read it. Aisling looked over his shoulder and read it as well. If Losh had perhaps come looking for the both of them, there was no reason she shouldn’t know why.
Rùnach, Lothar escaped and is looking for you. Heard rumor he isn’t the only one, now. And you won’t be the only one they’re after, trust me.
SW
Aisling glanced at Rùnach. He was looking off into the distance as if he saw things she could not. He suddenly folded the missive and tucked it into a pocket.
“Let’s go.”
“Wait,” she protested, “what did any of that mean?”
He looked at her seriously. “What it means is that we should seek the shelter we’ve been offered until I decide what we’ll do.”
“What did he mean, you won’t be the only one they’re after?” she asked.
“Weger is cryptic,” he said. “We’ll take it apart later, when we’re safe.”
She stopped him before he tried to take her elbow, presumably to steer her in the direction he wanted her to go. She gestured to Losh. “What will we do with the body?”
“We’ll ask Miach to ask a handful of lads to come bury him.”
She didn’t move. “Who did Weger mean by Lothar?” She hadn’t had much time to read, she would admit, but she had pulled out the small, very rare book Nicholas had gifted her and read for a bit whilst Rùnach slept for those very brief periods of time. “The only Lothar I’ve ever heard mentioned was the son of Yngerame of Wychweald.”
Rùnach stopped trying to steer her and simply looked at her. “What else do you know about him?”
“He has been the enemy of the kings of Neroche for…” She had to take a deep breath. “For centuries. The book Lord Nicholas gave me claimed he was a mage.” She looked up at him searchingly. “That can’t be the same man Weger was talking about.” She paused. “Can it?”
Rùnach dragged his hand through his hair. “It can.”
She gestured to the fallen man behind them, the man who had spewed out such vile words that had seemed so much more than mere words. “Who is that man?”
“The black mage of Wychweald,” he said quietly. “Lothar.”
She wanted to smile, to dismiss his words as a jest, but she knew he was absolutely serious. All she could do was stand there and try not to shake. “But mages…they don’t exist.”
He only looked at her, silent and grave.
“I think I recognized him,” she said unwillingly.
“That’s because, love, he is indeed the one who stabbed you at Gobhann.”
She had known it, of course, but hearing it put into words was substantially more unsettling than she would have thought it might be. Rùnach’s hands were immediately on her arms, which she supposed saved her an undignified sprawl. She held on to his forearms until she thought she could stand on her own. She also drew in an unsteady breath that if she hadn’t known better she would have sworn felt a bit like a sob. She looked up at Rùnach.
“Nothing is as I thought it was,” she whispered.
He reached out and tucked hair behind her ear and this time he looked less uncomfortable. “Aisling,” he said very quietly, “there are many things in the world that are as you think they are. But then there are some that aren’t. This might be properly classified as the latter.”
“I’m not sure if I want to weep or find those responsible and…and…” She looked at him. “I’m not sure what I want to do. I just know it wouldn’t be that.” She gestured at the fallen lad. “Not that. Why would Lothar of Wychweald do that?”
“Because he is a black mage and that is what they do.”
“Is that why there was evil coming out of his mouth—nay, you’ve no need to answer that. I think I can divine that on my own, thank you just the same.”
He was gaping at her. “What did you say?”
“Those words,” she said. She frowned. “Couldn’t you see them?”
He took a deep breath, then nodded. “A few of them. I could feel their effect more than see them, though.” He put his hands very lightly on her shoulders. “I also saw your wheel.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You purchased us the time we needed,” he said grimly, “for which I am very, very grateful, though I’m sorry you had to be a part of any of it.” He sighed and reached out to put his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s be off, unless there’s anything else you want to tell me.”
“Your brother-in-law left footprints in Lothar’s evil.”
He flinched. “Did he?”
“Gold and silver ones,” she said. “Very lovely.”
He looked a little winded. “Anything else?”
“The pegasus’s name is Iteach.”
He bowed his head and huffed out a bit of a laugh, then looked at her. “And how in the world do you know that?”
“He told me so.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “Woman, I am going to go very far into your debt one of these days and leave you with no choice but to answer an endless list of my questions. And the first will be, who are you?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “No one of consequence.”
“That’s mine and you can’t have it,” he said with another smile. “You’ll have to find something else to say.” He nodded toward Iteach. “You go discuss it with Iteach whilst I finish up with Miach. The sooner we’re
behind Tor Neroche’s puny walls, the happier I’ll be.”
“Puny?”
He only shook his head, squeezed her shoulders, and deposited her with his horse before he walked off to talk to Miach about things she suspected she would very much like to hear but wasn’t sure she could stomach at present.
She made certain her bow was securely fastened to the saddle, then reached into the saddlebag and came up with a curry comb. She put her hand on Iteach’s nose and looked him in the eye.
“Shall I pretty you a bit before we make our grand entrance?” she said lightly. “It is Tor Neroche, after all.”
He purred at her.
She smiled in spite of herself and set to work. She had a dozen questions she wanted answers to, but since all of them seemed to lead back to black mages and magic, she wasn’t sure she could ask any of them.
Iteach bumped her elbow, distracting her. She smiled at him, grateful for the interruption, and set to her work.
And she couldn’t help but wish Rùnach would hurry.
Nineteen
Rùnach looked over his shoulder and saw Aisling grooming his horse. He decided that there was no time like the present to convince his brother-in-law to keep his bloody mouth shut. He walked over to find Miach wrapping Lothar in spells even Rùnach could see the echo of. Miach looked up at him.
“Perhaps Gobhann is less secure than I dared hope.”
“Perhaps Weger was more distracted,” Rùnach said grimly. “I have no idea how Lothar escaped, but I wouldn’t doubt there was both subterfuge and death involved.”
Miach straightened and looked at him. “I’m sure I’ll have the details eventually.”
“What will you do with him?”
“I’m still thinking about it. He’s secure enough for the moment.”
Rùnach wasn’t too proud to show a little gratitude, though he drew the line at falling upon his brother-in-law’s neck and bawling like a bairn. “I appreciate the rescue,” he said, though that seemed an inadequate expression of just how grateful he’d been.
Miach only shrugged. “I think your lady had things well in hand, actually, but I was happy to do my part.” He slid Rùnach a look. “Are you going to explain what I just saw, or must I guess?”
“Neither,” Rùnach said with a weary smile. “Ask me later.”
“Might I ask now what you’re doing here?”
“Can you stop yourself?”
Miach smiled at him. “I’m pleased your time in Gobhann didn’t sour you.”
“I won’t say what it did do to me, though I suppose I wasn’t there long enough to be truly corrupted by the place.”
“Well, you seemed to have acquired a lovely gel over there.” Miach blinked innocently. “Does she have any idea who you are?”
“None,” Rùnach said. “She’s lived a rather sheltered life.”
“How sheltered?”
“She believes elves, dwarves, and dragons are figments of fevered bardly imaginations.”
Miach looked at him for a moment in silence, blinked as if he were trying to decide if he’d heard things aright or not, then smiled. “I’m not exactly sure how to respond to that.”
“Trust me,” Rùnach said dryly, “I’m still working on something appropriate myself.” He glanced at Aisling, found she was still busy with Iteach, then turned back to his brother-in-law. “Might we seek refuge at Tor Neroche in truth? We are, as you have seen, somewhat vulnerable at the moment.”
“Do you need anonymity?”
“It seems to have worked well for those who have gone before me,” Rùnach said pointedly.
Miach raised his eyebrows briefly. “That is definitely something you should rethink, but I’m happy to humor you. My only suggestion would be that you keep your hood pulled up around your face if you decide to wander the halls. I think you look more like your mother’s side of the family than your father’s, but that’s just me. There are several, I imagine, who would recognize you just the same.”
“And will you keep your hood up around your face as well, or just avoid the entire problem by keeping us in the stables?”
“I could try to lie,” Miach offered.
“You’re terrible at it. Always have been.”
Miach shrugged. “Fortunately my need for subterfuge and hedging has passed, though I can see your need for both has not.” He paused, then looked thoughtfully at Iteach. “I would venture to say that lad is Angesand get, perhaps out of Nimheil’s stables?”
Rùnach blew his hair out of his eyes. “Who don’t you know?”
“Oh, I’ve never met Nimheil,” Miach said quickly. “I haven’t hit upon the proper hostess gift yet, though I was thinking your sister might be enough. We’re planning a visit.” He looked at Rùnach with another frown. “What have you told your lady there about your steed?”
“Nothing. Nicholas made up a tale of some sort that I honestly can’t remember at the moment. And she’s not my lady.”
Miach studied him. “How much do you like her?”
Rùnach attempted a dismissive smile. “Do you think I would fall in love with the first woman I met after a score of years as a monk at Buidseachd?”
“I don’t know,” Miach asked. “Would you?”
Rùnach decided it was perhaps wisest to just ignore the question lest he be forced to state the obvious, which was that his brother-in-law was a bloody romantic. “All I ask is that you make whatever you do believable,” he said, “if for no other reason than I don’t want her hurt. That is answer enough for your loose tongue.”
“Hmmm,” Miach said, sounding far too interested in things he should have left alone.
“Don’t make me thrash you in your great hall in front of your entire family,” Rùnach warned. “And don’t think I wouldn’t.”
Miach only smirked in a way that annoyed Rùnach so much, he thought he might seriously consider making good on his threat, then pushed past him to go talk to Aisling. Rùnach turned to make certain his sister’s husband wouldn’t make things dodgier than they already were.
He watched Miach greet Aisling with chivalry that did him credit, though Rùnach had to remind himself that there would be questions as to why he had bloodied his brother-in-law’s nose if he didn’t restrain himself. He also had to remind himself that he had indeed passed a score of monkish years behind very tall walls and he certainly could not become entangled with the first female he encountered upon his release. He also had to remind himself that he could, if he wanted to, take his place as one of Sìle’s grandsons and live a very exclusive, very pampered, very mythical life full of the most beautiful of kings’ daughters come to tempt an elven prince.
They might even have been able to overlook his scarred face and ruined hands, if the inducement had been generous enough.
“You have magic.”
Rùnach dragged himself back to the present to realize that Aisling was speaking. Not only was she speaking, she was studying Miach with a type of scrutiny that should have made both him and his brother-in-law very nervous.
“A little,” Miach conceded.
Aisling reached out and plucked something off Miach’s shoulder. Rùnach found that, as usual, he could see it once it was in Aisling’s hand. Miach obviously could as well, for his eyes fair fell from his head. Aisling was only staring at what she was holding draped over a finger. She looked at Miach.
“I’m not sure,” she said, looking very pale and slightly ill, “but I think this is a strand of magic.”
“Is it?” Miach said faintly.
“’Tis purple.”
“Is it?”
“Is it yours?”
“Ah,” Miach said helpfully.
Aisling put it back on his shoulder, then patted him. “You might want to be more careful where you walk so you don’t pick any more of those up. I think only royalty is supposed to use purple, aren’t they?”
Miach started to babble something. Rùnach didn’t bother trying to make sense of it. He simply gave
his sister’s husband a bit of a shove and put himself in front of Aisling.
“He’s always getting into things he shouldn’t.”
Miach cleared his throat. “It comes from being wed to his sis—”
Rùnach elbowed Miach firmly in the ribs. “I think we should be going. I think Iteach agrees. Fortunate for us, isn’t it, that he has wings?”
Aisling looked at them both as if they’d lost their wits. She turned and walked off, casting Lothar an uneasy look.
“Brilliantly done,” Rùnach muttered.
“What was I supposed to say?” Miach asked defensively. “Who the hell is that?”
“I have no idea,” Rùnach said. “I have no idea where even to begin in determining that.”
“Is there a reason that you don’t want her to know who you are?”
Rùnach shrugged and attempted a lightness in his tone he most certainly didn’t feel. “There is no point, for what is there to know? I have marginal skill with a sword and a long and gloriously ordinary life stretching out in front of me.”
“For hundreds of years.”
“I’ll worry about that later,” Rùnach said dismissively. “And since that is the case, I’ve told her nothing, because there is nothing to tell.”
“No sense in trying to convince her of the reality of myths, eh?”
Rùnach pursed his lips. “Something like that.”
“Why are you here with her, then?”
“Because she’s looking for a swordsman to save her village from a cruel, usurping overlord, and after Weger threw me out of Gobhann, I decided it might be a good use of my time to look after her until the deed was done.”
Miach shut his mouth. “I see.”
“I don’t dare hope for that.” He nodded toward Lothar. “What about him, in truth?”
“You two go on ahead. I’ll bind him and stuff him in that crofter’s hut over there, then set spells over him for the moment.”
Rùnach looked at him in surprise. “Can you?”
Miach lifted an eyebrow. “Do you mean will I or am I able to?”
Rùnach dragged his hand through his hair. “Sorry, Miach. I don’t doubt your abilities.”
Miach put his hand on Rùnach’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, actually, and you would be justified in it. As it happens, however, I am fairly good with unconscious mages and I’m continually surprised by what the land aids me in doing.”