Spellweaver (30 page)

“Why does anyone live here?” she muttered, not entirely under her breath.

“Last bit of civilization for leagues,” Ruith said with a shrug, “such as it is. There isn’t anywhere of note between Slighe and Ceangail or, for that matter, between Slighe and Léige. You’ve seen for yourself what lies on the plains of Ailean—or perhaps you weren’t watching whilst we were flying.”

“I kept my eyes closed,” she said, mustering up a glare.

“I imagined you had,” he said wryly. “As to what lies to the south, there is nothing of any decent size for a few days’ travel at least. If you want supplies for even a modest journey, this is your last chance to purchase them.”

“I’m not sure I would stop here for supplies,” she said, wishing she had a sword and the skill to use it. “And that because I would most likely be robbed of them on my way out of town.”

He smiled. “I would disagree, but I think you have it aright.” He studied her briefly. “Are you concerned?”

She pursed her lips. “I think if your sword didn’t frighten any and all ruffians off, your knives would, so nay, I’m not overly concerned. I won’t say that I won’t be happy to leave the place behind, though, no matter how intimidating you are.”

Though why putting Slighe behind her would be an improvement, she couldn’t say. At least in Slighe it seemed fairly obvious where trouble might be coming from—any doorway that opened onto the street, actually—but out in the wilderness? Enemies lurking there would be more difficult to see, especially given the possibility that the mountains and forests were full of Ruith’s bastard brothers. It was difficult to accept that she felt more comfortable in Buidseachd, but there was no denying it. At least there, she knew to distrust most everyone she met.

She let her mind wander as she walked and it wandered right to the first unpleasant thing she’d seen on her current journey, which was her brother flinging a sword into his messenger’s chest. Obviously the double cross the messenger had attempted had gone horribly awry. She didn’t want to content herself with knowing the man would have suffered a much worse fate at Droch’s hands, but the truth of it was also difficult to deny.

At least she’d had the time to gather up the pieces of spell, and she and Ruith had escaped without harm. She supposed Daniel would free himself eventually, and whilst he might consider Ruith’s parting words to him, he wasn’t one to learn lessons easily. If he thought he could have even a fraction of Ruith’s sort of power, he would risk everything to obtain it. She sincerely doubted they had seen the last of him.

“Why did Soilléir give you that sword, do you think?” Sarah asked, dragging her thoughts away from things that bothered her but finding only other bothersome things to think on.

“I have no idea,” Ruith said. “King Uachdaran certainly doesn’t need another blade given the quality of work his own smiths produce.”

“Would you want it?” she asked.

He shot her a quick smile. “I would be lying if I said nay. I’m not sure where Soilléir came by it, but it is a very lovely blade. Well balanced and discreetly made.”

“None of the flash and pomp of the Sword of Neroche?” she asked with a smile.

“With a gem in the hilt large enough to blind you?” he said. “Nay, fortunately none of that. Unlike Adhémar, I prefer my weapons to be unembellished.”

“At least the spells won’t bother you—ah, I meant the runes.” She cursed herself silently, but ’twas too late. Ruith was already looking at her with the same sort of sharp look he’d turned on Soilléir a time or two, as if he intended to have answers even if he had to wait days on end to have them. She attempted an owlish blink, but she feared she’d been no more successful at it than Soilléir had been.

“Spells?” he echoed pointedly.

“I meant runes.”

“That isn’t what you said.”

“You heard me awrong,” she said promptly. “Too much wind in your ears, no doubt. Or in mine. I’m not sure which, but I’ll give it some thought and let you know later.” She tried another innocent look. “I’m weary and speaking out of turn.”

“What you’re going to be out of, woman, is one of your begging-off-from-unpleasant-courtly-affairs excuses if you don’t elaborate on what I heard awrong.”

She shrugged, vowing to be more careful in the future with her single words and simple thoughts. She was beginning to see that it would be more difficult than it looked. She yawned hugely, then wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Are we here for a meal or sleep? I can’t remember.”

He pursed his lips at her. “I know what you’re doing and I won’t press you now, which isn’t to say that I won’t later.” He slid her a sideways look. “Runes, my arse.”

“I don’t think that’s where they’re inscribed, but I could be wrong.”

He blinked, then laughed. “Very well, you’ve very saucily avoided any more pressing questions until the proper time. As for our immediate plans, whilst I’m not sure I want to trap us in a chamber here in town, we do need to sleep for at least a handful of hours. I think Tarbh will be safe enough where we left him.”

“In the trees,” she said with a smile. “Not exactly where I would think to look for a horse, were I a villain.”

“Well, an owl is a mighty bird, given the right breed,” he allowed. “As for anything else, I had originally planned to return here after our little foray to Ceangail and regroup with our good alemaster. I don’t know if Franciscus will choose this as a place to roost, but the rest of our lads might. It seems as if we should at least make the effort to find them.”

“Will they have dared wait here?”

“We’ll soon know, I imagine,” Ruith said, “given that Oban isn’t easily hidden. If he’s even set foot in town, someone will have noticed him.” He slowed. “We’ll try this tavern first. I suggest you keep your face covered and a knife up your sleeve.”

“And just where will you be?” she asked, eyeing the particularly unpleasant-looking place in front of them.

“Asking a question or two of the barkeep.” He frowned at her. “You couldn’t try a bit of a manly swagger, could you?”

She opened her mouth to tell him she would not only swagger but be happy to brawl with him if he needled her much longer, but he laughed before she could and pulled her hood farther over her face.

“Let’s go, wench. You can spew out all your missish grievances later.”

She walked with him across the boardwalk and into the tavern. It was just after sunrise, but already there were a few lads hard at their day’s labor. Or perhaps they were still finishing up their night’s work. Sarah wasn’t sure and didn’t care to investigate. She found herself deposited at a table near the door, then summarily abandoned.

She looked at the sign over the bar that tersely proclaimed that magic was not tolerated. That was something she certainly agreed with in principle, so she settled back in her chair and supposed the worst she could expect was the flash of a blade in the dim light from the fire.

Ruith stood at the bar for several minutes, a tall, intimidating figure cloaked and hooded. She watched the other patrons watch him, but apparently they didn’t care to investigate him more closely for none of them moved. She didn’t blame them in the slightest. She certainly wouldn’t have attempted polite conversation with the man if she hadn’t already known who he was.

He came to her table finally with two mugs in his hands. He set them down, pushed one toward her, then sat down with his back against the wall.

“Tidings?” she asked.

“Nothing of note,” he said with a sigh, “but I’m not sure we could have expected anything else. I wasn’t about to bring up the subject of mages, and the barkeep didn’t seem inclined to offer any hints of the same.” He had a sip of his ale, grimaced, then leaned back against his chair. “I think even a few hours’ sleep here would serve us, though I imagine we’ll be safer on the floor than whatever flea-ridden thing passes for a bed.”

Sarah drank only because she was desperate, but had the same opinion of the brew Ruith had.
Vile
wasn’t the word she would have used, for it didn’t begin to describe the disgusting nature of her ale. She supposed Ruith might manage to enspell what was in her cup, but she wasn’t about to ask him. She simply set her mug aside, then agreed with him that perhaps it was time to go. She followed him from the tavern and back up the street until he paused in front of an inn that looked slightly less disreputable than everything surrounding it.

The chamber they were shown to was no less squalid than she’d expected it would be. Ruith set his pack down in front of the fire, tossed more wood onto the blaze, then turned and walked back to the door.

“Lock it behind me, if you would.”

“Are you going out?” she asked in surprise. “Alone?”

He turned and leaned against the door, looking so casually lethal that she almost caught her breath. The women would fall all over themselves to get to him and the men would fall over themselves to get out of his way.

She held up her hand. “Never mind. You’ll be fine.”

“No one will enter,” he said, “if you’re worried.”

He said nothing, but suddenly a spell of protection fell down over the door. She could tell there were two sides to it and the pleasant-looking side was facing her. She didn’t imagine she would be lifting it up to see what lay on the other side.

“Will I be able to leave?” she asked uneasily.

“I am not your jailor, Sarah.”

“Just my protector.”

“There is a difference,” he said dryly, “though if you would be willing to take my advice, please just stay here.”

She sighed and walked over to him. “Very well, be off with you, then. I’ll lock the door behind you and stay to do womanly things.”

“Is that so terrible?”

She realized he was quite serious about the question. She met his very lovely pale eyes and shook her head. “Honestly, Ruith, I would much rather you go trudge in the muck and hobnob with seedy sorts whilst I stay here and sit in front of the fire. I’m just trying not to be a burden.”

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Is it a burden for a man to do unpleasant things to keep safe the woman he l—er, I mean,
likes
rather well?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Is it?”

“If I could fulfill this quest without your aid, Sarah, my love, I would do so without hesitation. I regretted every step you took with me to the glade and to my father’s keep and was frantic with worry when we were inside the walls. If I had thought it would have kept you safer, I would have brought the entire place down upon myself, killing the lot of us in the process.”

She caught her breath. “Surely you didn’t consider it.”

“I did,” he said. “But I am a selfish lout, so I was ecstatic—well, after I moved past wanting to wring your neck, of course—to have you rescue me so I could spend the rest of my life convincing you that I l—er, I mean
like
you very much indeed and would be honored to spend equal amounts of time making sure your life was full of whatever you loved most that I could provide.” He paused and smiled briefly. “Put simply, that is.”

She took a step backward because it was either that or throw herself into his arms, which she most certainly couldn’t do. She held out her hand in her most manly fashion. “Thank you.”

He looked at her hand, looked at her, then took her hand and shook it slowly. “You’re welcome.”

“You should go now,” she said, pulling her hand away and tucking it and her other one under her arms so they didn’t do anything untoward. “You know, to do those manly unpleasant things you need to do.”

He nodded, then opened the door. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

“I’ll wait.”

He smiled briefly, then slipped out the door. Sarah locked it, then heard his spell lock as well, much as the spell had done in his grandfather’s garden. She stood there with her hand on the door, tangled in the spell he’d wrought, and thought about the magic she’d seen in that garden. Poor Sarait, who had lived no doubt for centuries in that sort of loveliness, then found herself in Ceangail. Sarah wondered if she had known ahead of time just what Gair was, or if he had simply presented her with what he thought she would want to see. She pitied Ruith and his siblings for what they had seen and Ruith for what she feared he might see in the future.

She couldn’t say she was looking forward to seeing any of it herself.

She looked at the magic in front of her and trailed her fingers through the strands of Fadaire she could see, strands that were woven with the faint sound of snow as it fell through bitterly cold air and the soft fall of rain as it fell in the spring. Ruith had done that, she was sure, for no other reason than to please her.

And she had insisted he chat up ten princesses before he looked at her.

She was daft as a duck.

She was also weary beyond belief. She left the spell whispering softly behind her and walked over to the fire where she could dig in her pack and see what Rùnach—another very lovely son Sarait had no doubt been very proud of—had packed for her.

She didn’t go far, simply because she didn’t have the energy to. Fortunately a polite foray into the pack produced a child’s primer, written in what she assumed was Soilléir’s native tongue, a set of knitting needles, and several particularly lovely skeins of yarn packed tightly into the side of her pack. She fingered the yarn for a moment or two, then set it aside and opened the book.

She couldn’t say with any confidence that she was pronouncing correctly what she was attempting to sound out, but she continued on in spite of that. She had to pause after a few pages because there was something about the sound of that tongue against her ear that tugged at her in a way she couldn’t identify. She couldn’t say it made her uneasy, for it didn’t. There was something attached to the words, though, something that tinged them with a sadness she couldn’t shake off.