A Tapestry of Spells (20 page)

She turned back to the spell and noticed the tiny barbs on each strand, barbs put there to inflict enormous damage on anyone foolish enough to try to sweep the spell away. She wasn’t foolish, so she immediately gave up any idea she might have had to rid the case of magic and have a closer look at what was inside.

She was certainly no expert in the matter of trinkets, given that her mother had preferred stockpiling gold rather than things to dust, but it appeared to her that everything that resided safely behind very finely wrought glass was there because of its power, not its beauty. She immediately dismissed vials, jewelry, and obviously quite well-used wands in favor of the center spot. There, under glass, was a case lined in what looked to be blue velvet of the finest quality.

But whatever had lain there before was there no longer.

Sarah leaned over carefully and examined the case’s lock. It wasn’t broken, but that said nothing. Perhaps it didn’t require a key; it required a spell. A pity she possessed nothing equal to opening it. She wondered what had been so precious that it had required such care and security.

She looked around and found a torch sitting in a sconce to her left. She fetched it and held it close enough to see but not so close that the spell was disturbed. She was no king’s riddler, but she thought she might be able to divine the impression of what looked to have been a book.

Or a page of a book, rather.

The thought of a single page of magic being held so dear gave her the chills, so she turned away and looked for something else to think about. She replaced the torch and walked slowly back to her original spot. She leaned against the wall and watched as the chaos in the chamber deteriorated into something of a pitched battle. She pulled her knife out of her belt because it seemed prudent, though she wasn’t sure she would accomplish anything past having someone trip and fall upon it.

She began to feel a faint bit of alarm when Ruith drew his sword. He didn’t call for her, though, or even look at her, so she took that to mean she was safe enough where she was. He worked his way over to stand with his back to her, which made her feel even more comfortable.

Bodies soon went scattering. Pointy hats followed, or were thrown into the fire with robes, or plunked down hard onto heads and followed with rather unfriendly fists to covered faces.

Mages. What an unruly lot.

A lad of some stripe or another came flying suddenly across the chamber and landed full on the case to her right. Glass shattered immediately. He screamed as he fought his way out of not only glass but spells, then staggered across the room and fell, of course, into the fire. That seemed to trouble him less than what he’d just endured. He pulled himself to his feet and spent equal time beating out flames and trying to wipe spells off himself.

Sarah saw that the lad had done her a favor. The glass on the center case was shattered and the spells completely ruined. She eased past Ruith and quickly liberated the blue velvet on the point of her knife. She didn’t take the time to see what sort of magic it might have been covered with. She merely folded the cloth and stuck it down the side of her boot. It was sharp, somehow, and painful, but that only increased her determination to have a look at it later, when she might see if there was more there than just the outline of a page.

A doorway she hadn’t noticed across the chamber opened suddenly and red-coated guardsmen poured in. Those weren’t city guards or wizards’ guards. These were lads from an entirely new employer.

“Time to go,” Ruith said, taking her by the hand and almost jerking her off her feet as he leapt for the door they’d used to come in through.

He might have gained it if it hadn’t been for who she assumed was Lord Connail flinging himself at the door and using his body to block it. He looked at Ruith, who had lost the anonymity of his hood over his face at some point in the recent scuffle, and his mouth fell open.

She understood. As steely eyed and unromantic as she considered herself to be, she had to admit that looking at Ruith left her slightly affected. Perhaps in the same way a bad cold might—namely feverish—but affected just the same.

Ruith tried to push the mage aside, but Connail wouldn’t budge. Sarah stepped up beside Ruith to use a few of her fine-lady manners to tell the lout to move, but she was distracted by the sight of Connail’s right hand. The fingers were jutting out at odd angles, as if they’d been broken.

“What befell you?” she asked loudly, over the din.

“Trouble,” Connail managed, still gaping at Ruith.

Sarah understood why he couldn’t seem to concentrate. Ruith was profoundly handsome. Then again, Connail wasn’t too far behind him in beauty. Or he would have been if it hadn’t been for a long, thin scar that ran from his forehead, over an eye, and down his cheek. Sarah studied him for a moment or two, then decided the scar didn’t matter. He was handsome, but there was something in his aspect that was very hard, as if years of trauma had found their way into his visage.

“Where are you going?” he asked Ruith.

Ruith hesitated, then sighed. “We’re looking for a particular lad, Daniel of Doire. This is his sister—”

Ruith didn’t finish, and the reason he didn’t finish was he was too busy keeping a suddenly cursing Connail from throwing himself at her. Sarah ducked behind Ruith not because she couldn’t reach her knife, but because her skirts were hampering her ability to truly engage in a decent fight. Best to let someone in trousers see to it.

She watched Connail land to her left. He tried to push himself up, but he made the mistake of putting weight on his broken fingers. He cried out in pain, then lay there on the ground, cursing furiously.

“I’m trying to stop him,” Sarah said pointedly, “not aid him.”

Connail took an unsteady breath, then nodded. “Very well, then. I’ll come along to help you.”

“You won’t,” Ruith said immediately.

Connail looked up with bloodshot eyes. “I have answers you want and tales to tell, tales you won’t have if you leave me behind.”

Ruith sighed, looked briefly over his shoulder at the fight still in progress, then reached down and hauled Connail to his feet. Sarah ushered the mage out the door with perhaps more enthusiasm than she should have, for he stumbled and went down heavily again. Ruith pulled the door to behind them just as something slammed into it. A blade, by the look of the point of it coming through the wood. Ruith pulled Connail back up to his feet again and looked at him seriously.

“Keep up, or we’ll leave you behind.”

Connail nodded, took a firmer grip on his cane, and limped quickly down the passageway after Ruith.

Sarah lost her hat somewhere during that very dodgy trip out of the palace, tripped on her skirts once too often, and then didn’t argue when Ruith took one of his hunting knives and slit the cloth from waist to hem. She was left with her leggings, the shirt that probably would have repelled everything but a sword, and the jacket that flapped along behind her almost as frantically as Connail did.

At one point on the street, Ruith urged them into a deep, darkened doorway, then stood in front of her and Connail both. His sword gleamed dully in the lamplight from the street. Connail was absolutely silent, though she had been listening to him wheeze for the past ten minutes and suspected she knew what it was costing him to be still.

They stood there long enough to listen to several groups of different sizes chasing or being chased. She supposed they were fortunate indeed that either they had remained unseen or those who had seen Ruith had decided he was most definitely not worth the risk of engaging.

Ruith finally resheathed his sword and stepped out of the doorway. He looked up and down the street, then turned to them.

“Let’s go. Don’t fall behind, my lord.”

Sarah walked quickly next to him down the street, until he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. He did that, she realized with a start, because they were being followed—and not just by Lord Connail. She started to look over his shoulder, but he tightened his arm quickly.

“Don’t look back.”

She took an unsteady breath. “Think we’ll die?”

“Of course not,” he said, sounding surprised. “I wouldn’t be much of a guardsman if I couldn’t get you safely in and out of a nest of second-rate mages, would I?”

Connail muttered a succinct and pointed curse, but left it at that.

Sarah managed a smile. “What now?”

“We’ll fetch our gear,” he said, “then bolt out of the city, leaving our clumsy companion to follow after us as best he can. The guards won’t bother with us after we’re on the road, for we’ll outrun them.”

“I think you have too much faith in my abilities to run long distances,” she said.

He shook his head, then opened the door to their inn. “It took me two days to catch you after you left Doire. That says something.”

“It says that you walked.”

He smiled briefly, then looked over his shoulder at Connail. “Find a shadow to hide in. We’ll return in a bit.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but merely ushered Sarah inside. “I didn’t walk,” he said. “Well, not all the time.”

She paused. “You can be very ...” She stopped because she realized there wasn’t a good way to say what she was thinking without either offending him or offering sentiments that she shouldn’t have. He was her guardsman—a hired one, at that—and she needed to treat him as such.

It was difficult when he smiled.

“You can be very kind,” she said finally.

“See what you think after I finish with Connail,” he said with another faint smile. “Let’s fetch our things, then make haste.”

That haste, however, didn’t seem to preclude a quick meal or a bit of time lingering over a very decent mug of ale. Sarah enjoyed it, tried to pay for it, and had a snort as her reward. She supposed there was no point in arguing further, so she merely sat back and looked at her companion.

He was leaning back against the wall, fingering a spoon absently. He was sitting far enough in shadow that he apparently felt his hood unnecessary, though she supposed it would have been better for her peace of mind if he had covered his face. He was, she could admit freely, easily the most handsome man she had ever seen. Handsome, chivalrous, and slightly rough around the edges. A far cry from her brother, who screamed like a gel when he saw a spider and tended to use vile spells to make up for his lack of manliness.

She realized Ruith was watching her and smiled reflexively. “What?”

“What were you thinking about?”

“What a woman my brother is.”

He lifted his eyebrows briefly. “He seems to have done a man’s work here.”

“Did he?”

“He terrorized the lads at the palace and assaulted Lord Connail, but I don’t know that he made off with what he came for.” He pursed his lips. “I don’t suppose we can leave the mage behind.”

“We could, but I don’t think things would go well for him.”

Ruith sighed deeply and rose. “Then let’s fetch him and escape the city whilst we can.”

She nodded, then left the inn with him. They collected Connail, who was muttering curses, then walked quickly along the street until the street turned into a smaller road through a less populated bit of village, then a well-worn track that soon left houses and huts behind. She took a deep breath only to realize Ruith was doing the same.

“I’ve never seen a town so large,” she said with an uncomfortable smile.

“I’ve never liked a town so large,” he said, pushing his hood back off his face and dragging his sleeve across his brow. “I won’t be unhappy to leave it behind. He looked over his shoulder at the mage twenty paces behind them. “I don’t suppose it would be polite to run.”

“It wouldn’t be,” Connail called pointedly.

Sarah looked at Ruith. “Nothing wrong with his ears, apparently. Or your manners.”

“To my eternal shame.”

Sarah smiled until she found herself suddenly taken by the arm, her left one fortunately, and tugged forward.

“Now that we’re finally at our leisure, my dear,” Connail said smoothly, “why don’t you tell me again who you are and how it is you found yourself related to that piece of filth I encountered the day before yesterday?”

“I am Sarah,” she said. “He was Daniel, and if you don’t stop holding on to my arm so tightly, I’ll take my knife and remove your fingers from your hand to spare you any chance of them being broken in the future.”

She could have sworn Ruith snorted. It might have been a chuckle. She wasn’t sure, though she was quite certain he didn’t seem inclined to leave her alone with Connail. His presence immediately to her right was proof enough of that, she supposed.

Connail removed his good hand without hesitation. “No need to rile yourself, my dear. I’ll leave you be.” He looked over her head at Ruith. “And you, my wee rustic, what were you doing in Iomadh?”

Ruith lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Looking for answers to questions.”

“What questions?”

“You’ve already answered them,” Ruith said, “and for that we thank you. And now that I think on it a bit longer, I suspect that you might manage to make it back to town before the watch locks the gates for the night, if you hurry”

“Oh, nay,” Connail said, shaking his head slowly. “That sneaking wretch stole something from me and I want it back. Once I have it, I’ll go and you can do with him what you want.” He considered Ruith for a moment or two. “Aren’t you curious what I lost?”

“Not particularly,” Ruith said wearily, “though I suppose you’ll feel compelled to tell us just the same.”

“I lost a book,” Connail said, his eyes glittering in the faint light of the waning moon. “Or, rather, a single page of a book. I wonder why anyone would want that?” Sarah didn’t look at Ruith. She didn’t dare. She could feel him stiffen for a mere heartbeat, so quickly that she might have thought she’d imagined it if she hadn’t traveled with him long enough to sense it. “I wouldn’t presume to guess,” Ruith said, very quietly.