A Tapestry of Spells (22 page)

“And was he willing to have that,” Ned asked, his eyes absolutely enormous in his face, “or did he demand a duel with swords at dawn?”

“Swords, my lad, were not the man’s first choice,” Connail said with a faint smile. “He was more inclined to choose a weapon that would inflict a more lasting, painful wound. As for the other, who knows? I’m not sure an apology was what he was after.”

“What, then?” Ned asked, edging closer to Sarah, presumably to use her as a shield if things went south.

“He wanted my magic.”

Ruith felt his mouth go dry.

Connail shrugged. “He took it, of course. Every last, perfect drop of it, then stretched like a cat and made himself at home in one of my chairs. He finished my bottle of wine, and watched me weep until he apparently tired of the sport. That took longer than you might suspect.” Connail smiled at Sarah. “Care to know his name, my dear?”

Sarah shook her head just the slightest bit.

“I’ll tell it to you just the same, for the knowing of it might serve you at some point.” He paused dramatically. “It was Gair of Ceangail.”

Master Oban’s wand quivered with his fear, causing several squeaking things to appear and flap off frantically. Even Seirceil looked a bit unsettled. Ned only gaped at Connail.

“Oy, who is that?”

Connail shot him a look of distaste, then turned back to Sarah. “Surely, you’ve heard of him.”

“Nay,” she said faintly, “but I don’t know very many mages.” Ruith found himself the unhappy recipient of a quick look from Connail, a look full of hate and several other unpleasant things. He wasn’t at all surprised, for he imagined Connail suspected quite a few things he hadn’t considered before. Ruith had always thought he resembled lads from his mother’s side of the family, but perhaps he looked more like his father than he’d feared. And apparently Connail thought so too.

The only mystery remaining was why Connail didn’t blurt out the truth right then and there.

Connail turned to Sarah. “Perhaps your rather secluded upbringing has left you without the tales you’ll need to know to move in a larger world. Let me tell you of Gair of Ceangail and what befell him.”

Sarah looked as if she would have rather been sticking needles into her eyes than listen to Connail of Iomadh bludgeon her with tales about mages, but she was apparently on her best behavior, for she didn’t just up and leave.

Ruith wished she had.

“I should say first that the particular evening I spoke of was over a century ago. After that time, Gair wed an elven princess, sired six strapping sons and a beautiful daughter on her, then continued on his journey to madness, a journey I believe he began in my house. You see, my dear Sarah, the spells he was using, or rather that particular spell, take not only a mage’s power, but some of his own ... peculiarities. When Gair seized my power, he took along with it a bit of my own madness and arrogance.” He nodded at Sarah. “I am willing to admit my failings freely. I consider it a virtue.”

Ruith imagined he did, and he wished heartily that Connail had cultivated the virtue of keeping his bloody mouth shut.

“By the time I had recovered enough to pay heed to the events in the world—and that took several decades—I realized that perhaps my revenge on Gair would be meted out by Gair himself.”

“How so?” Sarah asked uneasily.

“He had acquired enough power that he thought himself able to do anything, including opening a well of evil. I understand he boasted he would open it, then shut it quickly, simply to display his marvelous strength. That he intended to open that well, then take all the evil to himself is, I believe, closer to the truth. But we don’t know that, given that we have no one to ask who might have known Gair’s mind.”

Ruith forced himself to merely watch Connail as if he’d been one of Ehrne of Ainneamh’s bards, spinning a tale of evil to send chills down the spines of children listening.

It took more effort than he wanted to admit.

Connail lifted an eyebrow at him, then returned to doing his best to entertain Sarah.

“Of course, the well was too much for him. What he’d loosed sprang up, then poured down and slew everyone in his family, including him.”

“How terrible,” Sarah murmured.

“I think it a mercy. Can you without horror think on how vulnerable the world would have been had Gair survived? And can you imagine the danger that would have been augmented had any of the sons lived, they who were full partakers of their father’s magic?” Connail shivered. “Terrifying.”

Sarah shivered as well. “Fortunate, then, that they didn’t.”

“They would have had the power to destroy the world, surely,” Connail said thoughtfully. “I know I wouldn’t trust one, were he alive. Perhaps the lad might look safe enough, but Gair looked sane enough in the beginning, or so I understand. His madness was unpredictable, or so ’tis rumored, and all the more dangerous for it.”

Sarah rubbed her hands together and tucked them under her arms. “Is there more?”

“There always is, isn’t there, my sweet?” Connail said pleasantly. He had a sip of his ale, then shrugged. “Before that business at the well, I understand Gair thought so much of his magic that he gathered all of his spells into a single tome, a book that never left his person. In time, as he grew to realize that no one around him was as clever as he, he took to hiding the book in his library. He amused himself by enspelling all the books there so that the titles shifted continually, effectively hiding that very desirable bit of writing. I’ve also heard that after Gair died, the library at his keep caught fire. Several of the books were saved, but I understand a terrible battle ensued over their possession. Things were torn, manuscripts were divided, men were maimed and killed.”

“What happened to the book?” Sarah asked. “That book of spells?”

Ruith could scarce hear her words. He wondered, in a way that left him feeling slightly queasy, if she were thinking the same sorts of thoughts he was.

“The book of spells,” Connail said, “was scattered on the wind like so many seeds, destined to fall into fertile soil, germinate, and grow up into quite lovely gardens of particularly vile spells. The location of these gardens remains a mystery to most, I imagine. Some don’t realize what they have; others don’t dare show it, lest they find themselves—how shall I put it?—ah, yes . . . dead. The wise ones, the brave ones, display their page of history with pride.”

Ruith imagined they did. He glanced at Sarah to find her studying Connail silently.

“Why do I have the feeling you know this personally?” she asked.

“Because you are as astute as you are lovely,” Connail said smoothly. “Once I heard of Gair’s demise, I decided that I would see how much of his book I could find. I planned to collect it all, then destroy it so that his magic might have an end. There could have been no greater hell for him than that.”

“And did you find any of it, Lord Connail?”

Ruith found Master Franciscus standing at the edge of the firelight, his arms folded over his chest, his stirring spoon held in one hand as if he brandished a knife.

Connail looked at him, an eyebrow raised slightly. “Aye, I did, Master Franciscus. It took me ten years, but I finally found a single page of the book. I might have found more, but I am, as you see, no longer suited to arduous journeys.”

“And what sort of spell did the page contain?” Franciscus asked.

“Nothing for you to use in your alemaking, my good man,” Connail said with an indulgent chuckle. “The spell was one of Reconstruction. For those with less experience than I in these matters, a spell of Reconstruction is one in which a thing can be remade into something else but only for a certain amount of time. An annoyance for the subject so reconstructed, but not life changing.” He rubbed his hands together suddenly. “Of course, once I had the page, even just that page, I found I couldn’t destroy it. It was ... mesmerizing.”

“Was it, indeed?” Sarah asked reluctantly.

“It was,” Connail said, looking at her with a light in his eye that wasn’t entirely pleasant. “Mesmerizing and perfect in every way. Evil though Gair might have been, it is undeniable that he was a master at his craft.” He shook his head. “I obviously didn’t have the magic to work the spell, but I could look at it every day and imagine I did. And I could imagine that Gair was too dead to do the like.” He shrugged. “A cold comfort, true, but a comfort nonetheless.”

“Where did you find the page?” Seirceil asked.

“In the bottom of a peddler’s cart.”

Ruith was somehow unsurprised. He couldn’t say that he didn’t share Connail’s joy over the fact that someone besides Gair of Ceangail had even a small a piece of his bloody life’s work, except for the fact that now Gair’s damned spells weren’t walled up inside his own black soul. They were out in the world, where they could have been found and used by anyone with enough magic to attempt them.

That said nothing about what would be left of a mage not equal to the strength of the spell.

Perhaps Daniel of Doìre would use the spells in his possession once too often and go mad as a result, though Ruith didn’t hold out much hope for that happening before Daniel wreaked undeniable havoc—

“But the page is gone now,” Sarah said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Aye,” Connail agreed. “Your brother took it, after he tried to take my magic.” He held up his right hand. “I laughed at him when he failed, and he broke one of my fingers. I mocked him further and he broke another.” He paused. “I think one day I must learn to curb my tongue. I just never know what sorts of details are going to come spilling out at an inopportune moment.”

Ruith imagined so. He supposed Connail could decide this was an inopportune moment and tell everyone there that he, Ruithneadh of Ceangail, was Gair’s youngest son. Sarah would look at him in horror, or with distrust, or not at all.

He wasn’t sure which of the three would have been worst.

“What was the spell Daniel was trying to use?” Sarah asked.

Connail looked at her with an emotionless stare. “Gair’s spell of Diminishing. The one used on me a century ago. Your brother only has enough of the page to be irritating, not dangerous, though he’s certainly strapping enough to do a bit of physical harm. My only comfort is that your charming brother doesn’t realize that what fraction of the spell he has will eventually begin to turn on him.” He shivered. “It has a mind of its own, that spell.”

Sarah climbed ungracefully to her feet. She pulled her cloak around herself, then took a step backward, almost going sprawling over Castân. She caught herself before Ruith could leap forward, then looked down at Connail.

“Thank you for the tale,” she said. “It was most interesting.”

Connail held up his hand and looked at the fingers Sarah had set that morning. “Consider it repayment for this fine work. Perhaps when you’re better rested, you would care to try a spell of healing on them.”

“Master Seirceil is better at that sort of thing than I am,” Sarah said quickly. “I’ll go look for wood.”

Ruith realized she was coming for him only as he found himself being taken by the arm and pulled along, out of the firelight. He went, partly because it was Sarah doing the pulling, but mostly because he too had had enough of tales about things he didn’t care to discuss.

“I didn’t like any of that,” she said in a low voice, once they were out of reach of the firelight. “I don’t think I’ll sleep well tonight.”

The moon was but a sliver, not nearly enough light for him to see her face properly, though he had no trouble feeling her fingers digging into his arm.

“At least Gair of Ceangail is dead,” Ruith said, understanding completely her feelings. “You’ve nothing to fear from him.”

She looked up at him. “But I think we all have something to fear from his spells. Especially if they fall into the wrong hands.”

Ruith rubbed his hand over his mouth, then sighed. “Only if those hands understand what they have. How much does your brother know of history? Of mages and that sort of rot?”

“Daniel knows very little, I imagine,” she said with a shrug. “He went to school, though they weren’t happy to have him, as you might guess. Whether or not he paid attention at his lessons, I don’t know. He was too busy thinking on ways to torture small animals, I daresay.”

He pursed his lips. “I’m sorry you had to live with him for so long.”

She smiled, one of the more genuinely happy smiles he’d seen her wear. “You know, as difficult as it’s been to travel and as often as I’ve had to swallow my pride to accept aid—your aid, mostly—I have enjoyed being free of him.” Her smile faded. “I don’t think it will last, though. It can’t last, if I’m to accomplish what I must.”

He nodded, because he had no choice. He would have spared her the journey as well, but he couldn’t. Seirceil hadn’t seen but a hooded and cloaked Daniel, Oban couldn’t shout if he recognized him, and Ruith had the feeling Connail would have retained the knowledge out of spite. Nay, Sarah would have to come if only to identify her brother.

Though he couldn’t help but feel there was more to her presence near him there than just that.

He pulled her cloak—his cloak, rather—up to her ears and tugged it closer around her. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her.

“You should sleep—”

“After that?” she interrupted. “I told you I couldn’t. Since you don’t seem to sleep either, we’ll not sleep together.” She pulled away, then offered him her elbow.

He looked at her in surprise, then smiled. “Are you escorting me now, my lady?”

“It’s just Sarah, though I can see how you might be confused given the blouse I’m still wearing.”

“You seem to like the ruffles.”

“I most certainly do not, but I can’t divine how to get them off. I’m not entirely sure that seamstress didn’t sew me into the bloody thing.”