Spellweaver (34 page)

“You haven’t so far.”

“Not recently, at least,” he agreed quietly. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together. “We could first make for the farmer’s house where we left your herbs, if you like. Then I think we should head for Léige.”

“To look for your brother?”

Ruith nodded. “I need him to make a proper list of spells. I think I remember most of them, but only Keir would know for sure. If he’s not still there—which he very well could be, with Mhorghain and the rest of them—we might learn where he’s gone.”

She fussed with her pack. “And will the king allow us entrance? I mean me, actually—”

“I was counting on you to sneak me in,” Ruith said with a smile.

She pursed her lips at him, then rose and began to gather her gear together. “I very much doubt I’ll be of any help in that, but I will bribe him with a bit of weaving if possible.” She glanced at him. “I hope your brother is there.”

“I do too,” he said, with feeling, and for more reasons than just Keir’s memory. After having spent even a pair of days with Rùnach, Ruith realized just how much he’d missed his brothers.

“Ruith?”

He looked up. “Aye, love?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She took a deep breath. “For defending my honor.” She held out her hand. “I appreciate it.”

He walked over to her, took her hand, then bent and kissed it. “It was very willingly done, my lady.”

She attempted a smile, but didn’t succeed. “That’s quite a title for the bastard daughter of an obscure witchwoman.”

“Given by the legitimate son of the black mage of Ceangail,” Ruith said with a huff of a laugh. “We’re a delightfully matched pair.” He squeezed her hand, then released it. “Let’s be off. You know how much I love the opportunities that flying affords me where you are concerned.”

“Lecher.”

“Aye,” he agreed pleasantly, then went to fetch his own gear. It took him longer than it should have. Troubling thoughts did that to a man, he supposed.

It wasn’t possible that someone other than Daniel had left behind a fragment of his father’s spell of Diminishing, a fragment from the part that he himself
hadn’t
had his hands on less than a month ago.

Was it?

The thought of it was enough to make him feel rather ill. He didn’t suppose he dared hope that the two halves of that spell wouldn’t find each other. The only thing that eased his mind in the slightest was that he felt certain if someone had put the two halves of the spell together, the world would have ended already.

That life carried on was a bit of a relief.

He busied himself with packing up their gear and making sure Sarah was distracted from thoughts of flight. If he was also distracted in the process, so much the better. There would be time enough for thinking terrible thoughts later.

Perhaps whilst he was about the unenviable task of convincing Uachdaran of Léige to allow him inside the gates instead of slaying him on the spot.

Eighteen

Sarah wondered if another day would come when she felt as though she were walking in something other than a waking dream.

She would have happily trailed along behind Ruith and avoided having to look at dwarves with very sharp swords—and a few with very pointed pikes, truth be told—but he had tucked her hand under his arm and seemed determined to keep her next to him. She wasn’t going to argue. She was too busy hoping they wouldn’t be thrown in the dungeon for attempting entrance into a place so fortresslike it made Buidseachd look like a pitched tent. Whatever the dwarves hid in their palace, they wanted it kept safe.

She supposed she would have felt quite comfortable with all the stone and guards and well-crafted steel—and the spells which were enough to give any woman with wit to spare pause—but she wasn’t entirely sure those things wouldn’t be barriers to her escape, should she need to make one.

They were ushered and not pushed—a good sign, she thought—through passageways and up and down stairs that whispered with tales of glorious riches and their discovery by only the most canny and persistent. Perhaps the people of Léige were more concerned with their exploits than they were using their spells on uninvited visitors—yet another promising sign. All they had to do was find out if Keir was there, have a little chat with him, then be on their way into other places that she was quite sure would be even more unpleasant.

Without warning, they walked out into an enormous hall, cavernous and intimidating, with a floor so polished, she had to look twice to make sure she wasn’t walking on glass. The walls bore carvings of the same sort of heroic scenes that the passageways had seemed eager to tell. She saw those only because, despite the darkness of the stone and the blackness of the polished floor, the entire place was full of scores of lamps and candles and other sorts of lights that weren’t entirely of this world.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Ruith looked a little winded himself. “I’ve never been in here. We were always accorded the lesser greeting hall.”

“Your reputation precedes you, then.”

“I think it might have been the chance to admire our horses more closely,” Ruith managed. “It was probably wise to ask them to resume their proper shapes well away from the walls, though I imagine Uachdaran’s scouts saw everything anyway.”

“Perhaps they’re afraid you’ll do the same to them,” she whispered.

He looked at her, then smiled. “We’ll speak of dwarvish magic later, when we have some privacy. They have no fear of me.” He looked around him for another moment, then shrugged. “I have the feeling it was the sword that earned us this. And I believe I’m going to owe Soilléir a fortnight or two of mucking out his stables as repayment.”

She would have agreed heartily, but they had come to a stop some thirty paces away from the thrones set on a dais, and she thought idle chatter might be out of place.

One throne was empty, but ’twas obvious that the king was occupying the other. She remembered Franciscus having told her that the dwarvish queen had lost her life in some tragic sort of fashion, but she couldn’t remember the details. She stopped with Ruith and wondered if she should bow or curtsey. She decided upon the latter and attempted it whilst Ruith made the king a very low, very long bow.

A guilty conscience was keeping him there longer than he might have been normally, no doubt.

“King Uachdaran,” Ruith said, straightening. “We bring you our deepest gratitude for your hospitality, as well as a gift from Soilléir of Cothromaiche. I am—”

“I know who you are,” Uachdaran grumbled loudly. “Gair’s youngest brat save one.”

“Um,” Ruith said, sounding nonplussed, “well, aye. I am that.”

“You’ve missed an entire contingent of your relations,” Uachdaran said, looking at Ruith calculatingly. “If I didn’t know better, I would think the entire house of Seanagarra was determined to make itself at home in my hall.
And
in my private solar.”

Ruith at least had the grace to blush. “I can understand why you might think that, Your Majesty, and I apologize for any past forays into places not usually accessible to visitors.”

Uachdaran grunted. “I don’t want to know how many forays you made, but at least you apologized. When that young upstart from Neroche arrived at my gates recently, he only flattered me in a rather restrained fashion, then retired to my solar for a very long morning of no doubt continuing to look for things he shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“He always does,” Uachdaran said severely. “And I’ll have it known that the only reason I allowed it was to reward him for his eye for a beautiful woman.”

“My sister?”

Uachdaran smirked. “Bet you didn’t know that until recently, did you, Ruithneadh?”

Sarah pursed her lips to keep from smiling. Whatever bluster Ruith had possessed on the way into the palace—which she had appreciated, in truth—had apparently left him abruptly. He seemed only capable of looking at Uachdaran as if he’d just been rapped smartly on the nose with a stick.

“Nay, I didn’t, Your Majesty.”

“Ha,” Uachdaran said, then he frowned. “I should enjoy this more, but your grandfather was uncommonly—and uncustomarily—pleasant to me recently. I suppose you’ll benefit.”

“Your Majesty’s generosity knows no bounds.”

“Don’t think it’ll earn you another trip into my solar, boy.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty.”

“Your sister has very pretty manners, for a soldier,” Uachdaran continued. “No taste in lads, but decent manners.”

“I plan on speaking to her about both, Your Majesty.”

The king scowled at him, then turned his scowl on her. Sarah felt a little faint, but since Ruith was obviously not going to be of any help, she stiffened her spine and returned the king’s look steadily.

He grunted at her. “Sarah of Doìre.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.” She had given her name at the front gates, so it was no surprise that he knew it already.

He squinted at her from a steely eye. “I daresay I should have kept young Mhorghain here a bit longer. Would have saved me time in advising you both of the wisdom of avoiding entanglements with mages—
especially
such a pair as you both seem to have taken up with.”

“I’m not entangled,” Sarah protested, though she found herself squirming under the words. Nay, she wasn’t entangled, but that wasn’t because she had other entanglements to contemplate, nor because she wouldn’t have had anything to do with Ruith if things had been different.

Uachdaran only snorted at her. “You shouldn’t hedge, gel. You’re not good at it.” He pushed himself up off his throne and bounded down the steps with the energy of a youth, which he most assuredly was not. “Show me the sword you’ve brought, young Ruithneadh, and let’s see what Soilléir has foisted off upon me.”

Sarah watched the king’s face as Ruith drew the sword and laid it across both his palms where Uachdaran could see it plainly.

The dwarf king froze, just as Soilléir had done.

And then the moment was gone, just as it had been with Soilléir, as if it had never been there and nothing about the blade had startled the king. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, then looked up at Ruith.

“Nice steel,” he said.

“Not as fine as something you would make, of course,” Ruith began respectfully.

“You would be surprised at what comes from my forge,” Uachdaran said. “Including this blade.”

“Indeed?” Ruith asked in surprise.

“Indeed,” Uachdaran said, in a perfect mocking imitation of Ruith’s tone. “There isn’t a blade that leaves my smithy without my inspection and my mark. Even the Sword of Neroche,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. “And that gel’s blade that Mehar of Angesand is so fond of. I added a little something of my own recently while the interested parties were off having tea.”

“I had no idea,” Ruith managed.

Uachdaran snorted at him. “You would think with all the prying into my private affairs you did in your youth that you might have learned a few details about my most powerful magic, but perhaps not.” He pointed with his nose to the darkness behind them. “Go have a rest, children, then come to supper—if you’re not too high for simple fare.”

“We would prefer it,” Ruith said promptly, “but, Your Majesty—”

Uachdaran stopped in mid-step and turned back around. “Eh?”

“Don’t you want the sword?”

“It served its purpose,” Uachdaran said with a shrug. “You keep it.”

Ruith frowned. “Then there was a message you understood ... or ...”

Uachdaran pursed his lips. “If you haven’t the wit to discover that on your own, little lad, then you’re not worthy of that blade. Go put your wee thinking cap on, Ruithneadh. The answer will come to you in time.”

Sarah waited with Ruith as Uachdaran turned and strode out of his grand audience chamber. Ruith resheathed the sword, then turned to her. He still looked a little winded.

“The king loves a good riddle.”

“Apparently,” she agreed. She managed a smile. “Are you going to solve it?”

“Among other ones, aye, if I have the chance.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “We have dinner and a bed for the night, at least. We’d probably best take advantage of both whilst the offer still stands. I might do a little investigating—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted quickly. “Please.”

He smiled and drew her hand through his arm. “I won’t—at least not until we’re ready to leave. For now, I think we should take the king up on his invitation for a nap and something to eat.”

Considering we’re likely not to enjoy the like again for some time
was what he hadn’t said, but she was sure he’d thought.

She walked with him as they were escorted back out of the hall and through other passageways that were no less full of tales of glory and glittering things than the first set had been. She would have paid more attention, but the truth was, she hadn’t slept well, even at Buidseachd, and she hadn’t slept much at all for the past two days. She saw a quite lovely bed near the hearth in the very lovely chamber she was shown, managed to stagger over to it, and fell into its softness before she could even attempt a stab at good manners or thanks to the serving maids she had noticed.