Spellweaver (9 page)

“You can sleep in peace here,” he said, nodding to his knives hanging on a hook near the hearth. “I’ll keep watch for a bit.”

She paused unwillingly. “But surely you’re weary.”

“Soilléir will want details of our adventures so far,” he said with a faint smile. “When he returns from the bit of scouting I’m sure he’s done, I’ll satisfy him, then sleep as well.”

“I hope you’ll find the floor comfortable.”

“I hope you won’t step on me in the night on your way to the loo.”

She scowled at him, because it made her happy to do so, then nodded briskly, because she could do nothing else. She didn’t want to think about a mage who could turn her brother into a flea taking the time to make certain she and Ruith were safe. She didn’t want to think about what lay outside walls she had feared would be worse than a prison. And she most definitely didn’t want to think about a man who had put his blades where she could see them, that she might fall asleep without fear.

She lay down on a pallet that somehow managed to feel like what she’d always imagined a bed for a princess might, then closed her eyes, partly to block out the sight of Ruith sitting there, staring into the fire, and partly because she was past the point of exhaustion. She reminded herself that such luxury was only to be hers for a single night and then she would be on her way to places where magic was nothing more than rumor the locals spoke about in hushed tones down at the pub. She would be happy to leave them to it and leave mages, including grave and silent elven princes, behind.

Truly.

Five

Ruith paced a bit back and forth in front of the windows of Soilléir’s chamber, watching the twinkling lights of the city reflected in the river he could see in the distance. The scene looked innocent and peaceful, even for Beinn òrain, which wasn’t precisely a city of innocents and peacemakers. It was odd, however, to look down over the same view he’d looked at a score of years ago yet now be who he was. He had assumed, the last time he’d looked at that view, that he would succeed with his brothers in helping his father along to hell, then live out the rest of his life in bliss, dividing his time with his mother and siblings between Seanagarra and Lake Cladach.

Odd how life didn’t turn out how one expected it would in one’s youth.

He turned away from the window and ran bodily into Soilléir’s servant, who only backed away, apologizing by inclining his head slightly. Ruith smiled at him, then walked across the chamber to stand in front of the fire. It wasn’t so he could stave off the sudden chill he felt, truly. It was so he could watch Sarah whilst she slept.

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and looked down at her, lying a comfortable distance away from the fire with her glorious hair spread out behind her. It occurred to him that even if he were able to convince her to look on him with favor, there would come a time when the disparity in their ages would grieve them both beyond measure. His years stretched out before him as Soilléir’s did, century after century with no end in sight, whereas Sarah would live out the tally of a mortal woman, then find herself waning before she passed through to that reputed place in the east where sorrow and death were no more.

Leaving him behind, alone—

He spun around when he heard the door across the chamber shut softly. Soilléir held up his hands as he walked silently across the floor.

“Friend, not foe,” he said with a faint smile, coming to warm his hands against the roaring fire. “I saw nothing unusual, but I didn’t go outside the city walls themselves. There might be things lurking there, but they will leave you in peace here for a bit, I’ll warrant.”

“One could hope,” Ruith said grimly. He watched Sarah a bit longer, then looked at his host. “Well?”

Soilléir only looked at him innocently. “Well, what? You act as if you think I’m preparing to pepper you with questions.”

“You forget, my lord, that I knew you quite well in a former lifetime and watched you grill my mother more than once.”

“I never grilled your mother.”

Ruith had to concede, grudgingly, that Soilléir’s questioning of Sarait had always been very gentle, but it had been undeniably relentless. It had been motivated, no doubt, by love and concern. He didn’t want to credit the man with such warm feelings for him, but since he had provided such a useful and convenient refuge, satisfying his curiosity perhaps wasn’t out of the question.

He sighed deeply and suppressed the urge to pace a bit more. He wished with equal desperation for something to do with his hands.

“I don’t suppose you have any decently kilned wood hiding in your chambers, do you?” he asked.

“Nay, short of pulling apart my favorite armoire made especially for me by King Uachdaran’s third son—”

“How did you flatter him out of that?” Ruith asked in surprise.

“I imagine you would want to know,” Soilléir said mildly, “having found flattery unequal to the task of winning you the spells you would have happily had out of His Majesty’s solar.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you did the unthinkable and actually
pilfered
them, did you?”

“I had help,” Ruith said defensively. “Miach of Neroche was the one who opened the door.”

“And you opened the glass case containing the book.”

“That the blame might be spread about equally,” Ruith agreed, smiling a little at the memory. “And aye, all because flattery didn’t serve us.”

Soilléir sat and looked up at Ruith. “I’ll find you wood on the morrow. I’d rather have a bit of your tale tonight, if you’re of a mind to give it. I’ll leave the difficult questions for when you don’t look as if you’ll fall asleep in the middle of the answers.”

Ruith had no doubt that Soilléir could see the entire journey written there on his soul, but perhaps there was something healing about the recounting of a tale that had been created with such difficulty.

“Very well,” he said, sitting down with a sigh. “Where will you have me begin?”

“With why your lady isn’t happy with you.”

“She is not my lady,” Ruith said, though he certainly wished it to be otherwise, “and she’s irritated because I led her to believe I was a simple mage, then I didn’t correct her when she incorrectly assumed I was nothing but a swordsman.”

“When did she find out the truth?”

Ruith pursed his lips. “As we were standing in the great hall at Ceangail and Díolain was making a production of reminding us all of our familial connections.”

“I would smile,” Soilléir said, pained, “but I can imagine it was very difficult for her. And you might be surprised, Ruithneadh, just how many gels don’t care for that sort of thing and the violence of their reactions once they realize they’ve been—how shall we say it?”

“Misled for their own good?”

“Lied to,” Soilléir corrected with a smile. “How long was it before you knew she had no magic?”

“How did you know that?” Ruith asked in surprise, then he held up his hand. “Never mind. I know: you are who you are. I knew early on, though she is quite adept at hiding it. I imagine her lack made for a very difficult life with Seleg and that damned brother of hers.”

“I suppose that’s understating it a bit, but those are likely happenings she would rather leave in her past. Let’s discuss your past instead. What were you doing all those years whilst our lovely Sarah was trying to stay out of Seleg’s sights? I know about the well, of course, and I knew you’d gone south to regroup—”

“That is one way to put it,” Ruith muttered.

“You were a lad of ten winters, Ruith, and not your father’s equal—though that was simply a matter of age and experience, not raw power. You’ll remember that not even your mother was able to stand against him in that glade, empowered as he was by the acquisition of your brothers’ magic.”

“Acquisition,” Ruith echoed grimly. “Aye, I suppose you could call it that.”

Soilléir shrugged. “What else is there to call it? ’Tis an awful business, and your father was a master at it. You could not have fought him at your tender age, and for all you knew, he was still hiding there in the woods, wounded but alive. You made the choice to retreat in order to fight another day.”

Ruith dragged his hands through his still-damp hair. “You’re trying to assuage my guilt.”

“You know I’m not,” Soilléir said without hesitation. “There are many, including me, who have been faced with that same sort of decision and live now with the consequences of our actions. You cannot go back and change what’s done, but you can accept that you did what was needful at the time.”

Ruith wasn’t sure he cared to know what sort of choices Soilléir had made. He couldn’t imagine they’d been easy ones.

“And in case you’re wondering, I have left you your privacy all these years—not that I didn’t think about you now and again and hope you were well.”

“I appreciate that,” Ruith managed.

Soilléir laughed a little. “I imagine you do. And I will admit that I hadn’t given you much thought recently until you healed Seirceil of Coibhneas. You woke me out of a dead sleep with that little piece of magic, if you’re curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Ruith said sourly, “but I appreciate knowing as much. How far does your sight extend, anyway?”

“Not to the innards of your stewpot, if that eases you any.” Soilléir poured more wine for them both, handed Ruith his cup, then settled back comfortably in his chair. “I’ve often wondered how it was you so easily found a place to land. Perhaps someone knew you were coming.”

“I shudder to think who that might have been,” Ruith said. “No one could have suspected I would travel south. I imagine it was just a matter of happy coincidence.”

“Others might have a different opinion,” Soilléir said with a smile, “but we’ll leave that for now. What happened after you shut your door and no doubt slept for days?”

“I survived,” Ruith said, then he stopped as something else occurred to him. “I don’t suppose you have stretched your sight to looking for other things besides what I put in my stew, have you? Perhaps as far as determining if any of my siblings are still alive or not?”

“I might see,” Soilléir said mildly, “but I don’t divulge.”

“Damn you.”

Soilléir laughed softly. “Ah, Ruith, it is good to see you again.”

Ruith only grunted. “I’m sure my lack of deference is refreshing. And since you won’t divulge, I will. Keir is alive, if Díolain is to be believed.”

Soilléir didn’t look particularly surprised. “Is he, indeed?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Discreet,” Soilléir corrected with a smile. “And instead of your past, tell me of your journey east. I’m curious about the particulars of it and what you saw on your way here.”

Ruith set the cup aside for future need and began with his encounter with Sarah at his front door. He related with no relish at all the events that led up to his realizing that his father’s spells were still out in the world and that his task would be to find them. It took another cup of wine to get him through the journey to his father’s well and their subsequent trek to Ceangail to look for more of his father’s spells.

“We fled the keep,” he continued, “but were overcome by magic from a source I didn’t see. I woke to find myself alone and Sarah carried off by traders. I followed, gave her no choice but to come with me, and here we are in your very comfortably appointed solar, enjoying your very fine wine.”

Soilléir looked at him assessingly. “You’re leaving out details.”

“Details I don’t care to think on at present, actually.”

“Such as who would cover you with a spell of protection fashioned of Olc,” Soilléir agreed. “Any ideas?”

Ruith took a deep breath. “I was hoping you might have one or two.”

“Well,” Soilléir said with a bit of a laugh, “I think we can safely say it wasn’t Droch. If he encountered you in a darkened alleyway, I imagine he would just as soon slay you as greet you pleasantly.”

“After he attempted to take my power, you mean,” Ruith said, wondering just how much Soilléir had seen that morning. “How is his little spell of Taking coming, anyway? What is it he calls it—Gifting?”

“Thankfully it isn’t what it should be, in spite of his centuries of attempting to perfect it. I daresay he would give much to have Gair’s spell of the same, though fortunately he hasn’t found it yet. It isn’t for a lack of trying, believe me.”

Ruith paused. “I had half of the one my sire had written down in his book, if you’re curious.”

“Did you?” Soilléir asked in surprise. “How did you come upon it?”

“Sarah’s brother found it in the bottom of a peddler’s cart.” He nodded her way. “Perhaps you can look at her arm when you have a moment. She touched the half page of my father’s spell of Diminishing that her brother had left lying about.” He paused. “Oddly enough, I touched something akin to it in a dream and my arm bears the same mark.” He paused. “I can’t see it, but she can.”