Spellweaver (26 page)

He nodded.

“I’ll draw as much of a map as I can manage,” she said briskly. “And see about finishing these cloaks for us.”

He nodded, ignoring the way her hands trembled slightly as she took one of her knives and began to slit her warp threads. He wondered what the runes said and wondered further why Soilléir hadn’t seemed to find time to translate them for her.

“Are you napping?”

He smiled faintly. “Just thinking.”

“You look more at peace, if that pleases you.”

“Do I?” he asked in surprise. “Was I not peaceful before?”

She rolled her eyes and slid off the bench. He was fairly certain he’d heard her mutter that what he had been before was in great need of a lengthy soaking of his head. He watched her walk away to confer with Soilléir about seamstresses, then found himself joined on Sarah’s bench suddenly by his elder brother, who also seemed to find the sight of an elegant weaver of lovely cloth to be worth his study. Too close a study, actually.

“Mine,” Ruith said distinctly.

“She might have an opinion about that.”

“I’m planning an extended campaign to sway that opinion my way.”

Rùnach smiled, a crooked thing that hadn’t lost any of its wry-ness. “I would happily stand along the edge of the road and offer any assistance I could.”

“Aye, by seeing if there might be a team of horses coming along which you might invite to crush me underfoot,” Ruith said darkly. He looked at his brother assessingly. “You like her.”

“Very much. Unfortunately, she seems to be looking at you more than is polite. I thought to warn her of the inadvisability of such a practice but didn’t want to burden her with anything unpleasant.” He shot Ruith a look. “I’ve tucked a few friendly notes into the book of Cothromaichian child’s verse I found for her downstairs.”

“Got to it before Soilléir did, did you?”

“I thought it prudent.”

“Find your own wife.”

“I’m trying to.”

“Well, you can’t have that one,” Ruith said, realizing quite suddenly that his brother was serious. “I saw her first.”

“She might like me better.”

“Which is why we’re leaving tonight,” he said, then he shut his mouth as Sarah walked over to them to retrieve some pieces of thread for her seamstress.

She found it, then stopped and looked at them both with a frown.

“What mischief are you two combining?”

“Nothing,” Ruith said promptly. “Just a friendly discussion about—”

“Love,” Rùnach interrupted smoothly.

“A brotherly, comradely, platonic sort of love,” Ruith finished, elbowing his brother rather firmly in the ribs. “Nothing more.”

She looked at them both as if they’d lost their wits, then turned and walked away. Rùnach sighed wistfully.

“She is exceptionally charming.”

“I’ll invite you to her wedding,” Ruith said. “To me.”

Rùnach lifted his eyebrows. “That remains to be seen. I believe I’ll go see to a few luxuries for her pack.” He slapped Ruith companionably on the back of the head, then heaved himself to his feet and walked away.

Ruith watched him go, then smiled to himself. He would have given much to have simply lingered where he was, enjoying the company of his brother, the tartness of a certain lovely woman, and the tales of a man who had loved his mother.

At least he might continue on with one of the three, though he imagined there would come a time when he would wish she had been safely left behind with the others.

Other spells that Gair of Ceangail had been working on?

He shuddered to think.

Fourteen

Sarah stood near the fire, holding her hands to the blaze and purposely ignoring the fact that her fingers were well past the point where any fire could warm them. She wasn’t afraid, never mind that she was leaving a place of safety and comfort—and that she should have found either in a clutch of mages was alarming in and of itself—or that she was walking into a future filled with no safety and likely very little comfort—also filled with mages, but of a different sort entirely.

Nay, she wasn’t afraid.

She was speechless with terror.

It was one thing to sit at a loom of such quality she half fancied she could have woven spiderwebs into something that would have been sung about for centuries to come and know that taking up the task of looking for her brother, stopping his stupidity, and aiding Ruith in whatever small, inconsequential thing he contemplated was still comfortably far in the future.

It was another thing to know that future was now waiting just outside the door.

She didn’t want to think about that future or where it might lead her, so to distract herself, she began a list of things that seemed to be in her favor. She was still without gold or home, but she was wearing very sturdy boots, warm leggings and a tunic, and the cloth she had woven had been gifted—no doubt by Soilléir himself—a measure of glamour that she was confident would hide her if necessary. She was wearing a pack that she hadn’t filled herself, but had been assured by Rùnach would contain all she needed for at least the beginning of the trek. She had drawn a map of what she’d seen in her dream, which Ruith had studied as well and nodded over.

So, if she were to look at the quest without putting herself in the middle of it, it was a simple one and easily accomplished. She would lead Ruith from spell to spell, he would stuff them in a safer place than his boots, then when they had them all, he would destroy them. That would leave his bastard brothers nothing to want to kill him for and leave her free to imagine Daniel attempting to convince some poor village he was equal to being their local wizard.

She couldn’t think any further than that. She didn’t want to think about which of the ten princesses Ruith would learn to love, want to wed—

“Sarah?”

She looked up from her contemplation of the fire to find Ruith and Soilléir standing to her left. Ruith was dressed as she was and looked as if he too might have been contemplating his assets. She supposed he had a few more than she did, but then again, he had a larger burden to bear.

She couldn’t think about that either.

She smiled at them both—or attempted to, rather—then took a deep breath. “Ready?”

“Almost,” Soilléir said. He pulled up a chair for her, then motioned for Ruith to sit in the one next to her. He sat, then looked at them with a grave smile. “Before you go, I have gifts for you both.”

“Nay,” Ruith protested. “Soilléir, you have already given us more than we needed already.”

“That was done willingly,” Soilléir assured him. “However, there are other small things you’ll need that I can provide.” He looked at Sarah. “My dear, I have a spell for you.”

Sarah looked at him in surprise. “A spell? What would I need with that?”

He smiled gravely. “’Tis a spell of Discernment. It may serve you when things before you become unclear.”

“But surely it would be of more use in someone else’s hands,” she protested. “Someone with magic.”

“The spell comes with a sort of magic wrapped around its warp threads, if you care to think of it that way.” He shrugged. “Many can wield spells, some can wield weighty spells, but the truth is, most mages are blind because of it. It is easy to use a spell and affect a destiny without thought. More difficult is to see how the patterns of lives are woven and how they might be bettered. It takes a certain sort of magic to offer naught but a single word or a simple thought, then stand back and allow things to progress as they will.”

Sarah supposed trying to convince him she wasn’t even equal to putting her oar in occasionally was futile, so she listened to the spell, memorized it, then repeated it dutifully when Soilléir asked her to. She felt nothing, but she hadn’t expected anything else. Soilléir obviously had more faith in her abilities than she did, but the words were pleasant, so she was happy to tuck them away.

“I fear I’ve loaded you down with books,” he said apologetically, “but in addition to the poetry and the lexicon, I left you a very small history. It contains two other spells and a bit of my genealogy, if you’re interested. One of those spells will be useful to you if your Sight begins to trouble you. The other ... well, the other you’ll find a use for in time.”

She took a deep breath. “Are you offering single words and simple thoughts now, my lord?”

He laughed a little. “How quickly you see through my attempts at doing nothing. Aye, I’m offering you nothing more than that, which is enough for now. We’ll see, though, how your friend there reacts to something more than single words.”

Sarah looked at Ruith to find him watching Soilléir carefully, as if he wasn’t precisely sure what to expect. He glanced at her, smiled, then looked back at their host.

“Advice?” he asked.

“You don’t need any more of that,” Soilléir said. “I thought you might find a use for a spell or two.”

Ruith was suddenly very still. “And which ones would those be, my lord?”

“Return and Alchemy.”

Ruith pushed himself back in his chair as if he didn’t care for what he’d heard and wanted nothing but to be away from it.

“Don’t,” he said harshly. “Léir, don’t.”

“You could stick your fingers in your ears, I suppose,” Soilléir said with a shrug. “You wouldn’t be the first one to do so.” He paused and frowned. “Though truth be told, I can only think of one other person over the centuries who begged me not to give him a spell.”

“I’m not sure I dare ask who that was,” Ruith managed.

“Yngerame of Wychweald,” Soilléir said with a smile. “Perhaps he feared he would use it on his son.”

“Which he didn’t.”

“Which he didn’t,” he agreed. “I have confidence that you’ll exercise the same sort of control. And if you’re interested in the whole tale, Yngerame only pretended to stick his fingers in his ears.”

Sarah shivered. They were speaking of things that could truly undo the world, yet Soilléir seemed to find them simple enough. Or perhaps that wasn’t the case. He might have been affecting a casual air, but she was quite sure he’d given his offer a great deal of thought.

She shifted so she could look at Ruith without seeming to stare at him. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped, watching the floor as if it might provide him with better answers than he could find elsewhere. He finally sighed, smiled at her wearily, then looked at Soilléir.

“I won’t say I don’t want anything you’ll give me,” he admitted slowly. “I will say that I won’t use your spells on my sire.”

“I know.”

“At least I hope I won’t.”

“I know that too.”

He took a deep breath. “Very well. If you must.”

Soilléir smiled a little, then gave him the spells. Sarah listened to the words, then watched them hanging in the air, shimmering there between Ruith and Soilléir for a moment or two, each spell in turn, before they simply winked out of existence, as if they’d been sparks cast from a fire.

Ruith considered them for quite some time before he looked at Soilléir seriously. “Could I heal Sarah’s arm with Alchemy? I assume you’ve tried it on Rùnach.”

“I have,” Soilléir said gravely. “Unfortunately, there is something in both their wounds that a change of essence won’t touch.” He paused. “I fear it has to do with your father’s spells, though I’ll admit to being thoroughly baffled as to what. ’Tis another mystery to add to your tally, I suppose, for I certainly don’t have the answer.”

Sarah was tempted to say she would have rather had that answer sooner rather than later, simply because her arm pained her more often than not, but she was also fairly certain that answer didn’t lie in a pleasant place. Ruith was watching Soilléir thoughtfully.

“Alchemy wasn’t what you used on Sarah’s arm that first night.”

“It wasn’t,” Soilléir said mildly. “That was a spell of Confinement. Also a very useful thing to have under one’s hands.”

“That makes three of your spells I now know.”

“And yet the world continues to turn.”

Ruith smiled, apparently in spite of himself. “I suppose that leaves us no choice but to march into the fray and see that the rotation continues.”

“I daresay you have that aright. But, if you don’t mind, I do have a favor to ask.”

“Anything,” Ruith said, then he shut his mouth abruptly. “Or perhaps not. It depends on what you want.”

“Nothing too taxing,” Soilléir said with a smile. He rose and walked over to his desk, then fetched a sword Sarah hadn’t noticed there before. He came back over to the fire and held it out to Ruith. “I need this carried to Uachdaran of Léige. I thought since you intended to travel his way, it might not be too much of a burden.”

Ruith took the sword slowly. “Do you have a message to send as well?”

Soilléir shook his head. “The blade is message enough. You could, if you needed to, use the blade yourself. It has suffered from inattention, I daresay.”