A Tapestry of Spells (24 page)

She shivered briefly under Ruith’s cloak, then started to walk again. The longer she walked, the calmer she felt. Taking the measure of a man by the reaction of Oban’s spells to him was unreliable, nothing more. Besides, she might have been seeing things that weren’t there. It had been at least a fortnight since she’d slept well at night, and perhaps almost that long since she’d eaten anything that tasted as it should have. It was weariness that colored her vision. There was nothing amiss with members of her company. Even the woods surrounding her were reassuringly quiet—

She froze. That wasn’t exactly true.

“I know what you’re hiding, my false rustic.”

Sarah let out her breath very carefully. That was Connail, his voice a harsh whisper in the dark. She couldn’t imagine he was talking to anyone but Ruith, for he was unfailingly polite, if not a bit condescending, to everyone else. She couldn’t fathom what Ruith had done to deserve it. After all, he’d consented to spiriting the mage out of a dangerous city, fed him, allowed him to travel along with them. What more did the man expect?

“And I imagine I know
why
you’re hiding what you’re hiding,” Connail added.

“Do you?” Ruith said mildly.

“Of course I do,” Connail snarled. “I’ve been guarding my tongue, but I could stop. Then we’ll see how the rest of your company views you, especially the little wench.”

Sarah stepped forward to listen a bit more, but she apparently disturbed a warren of rabbits, for two of them went racing off. By the time Sarah’s heart had calmed down enough for her to hear, the conversation had moved on.

“And
that,”
Connail was saying, “is the reason for my silence.”

Sarah cursed silently. She wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but she suspected that these were details she might want to know. What could Connail possibly be holding over Ruith’s head? His lack of magic? She moved closer until she could see both of them. She was tempted to walk out into the clearing and speak the truth aloud, to save Connail the trouble, but she supposed Ruith didn’t need her to fight his battles for him. The coldness in his voice was proof enough of that.

“Say what you like about me,” Ruith said, his words clipped. “At this juncture of my life, nothing can harm me.”

Connail laughed, but it was a very unpleasant sort of laugh. “You say that now, but you haven’t thought it through. Nay, my friend, I’ll keep your secret. But in return, I want what you know. And you know
precisely
what I’m talking about.”

“Never,” Ruith said flatly.

Connail glared at him for several very long moments, then he took a step backward.

The weak fool.

“You’ll regret that,” Connail said angrily. He glared at Ruith one more time, then turned and stalked unsteadily off.

Ruith bowed his head and dragged his hand through his hair.

Sarah watched him for several minutes in silence, until he finally sighed and departed for points unknown. She waited for a handful of minutes until his footsteps receded, then rubbed her arms briskly. She was suddenly quite chilled, though she couldn’t account for it. Obviously Connail knew Ruith far better than he’d let on. And Ruith knew it.

She turned and started toward the fire, then leapt back with a squeak.

Urchaid stood there, silent and unmoving.

“ ’Tis dangerous to be out here alone,” he said softly.

She opened her mouth to give vent to a bit of bluster, but found it was unnecessary.

“She isn’t alone.”

Sarah had never been so happy to see the glint of a sword hilt in her life. Ruith stepped around Urchaid and came to stand next to her.

“Too much walking might be dangerous for you, my lord,” Ruith said, inclining his head. “Shall we help you back to camp?”

Urchaid took a step backward. “How thoughtful your concern is, my friend. I seem to have forgotten your name ...”

“It’s forgettable,” Ruith said. “Head straight through those trees. You’ll see the fire shortly”

Sarah was perfectly content to allow Ruith to pull her away. She didn’t dare look behind her as she walked with him into the shadows. He said nothing and she had no desire to break the silence. They walked directly away from the camp and into the midst of a farmer’s freshly ploughed field. Ruith stopped, finally, then simply stared off into the distance. She wanted to ask him what it was Connail held over him, but decided that whatever it was, it was none of her affair. If Ruith wanted to tell her, then he would. If not, she was likely better off.

But now that they had a bit of privacy, she turned to what she’d been putting off.

“I took something from Connail’s house,” she said.

He looked at her. “Did you, indeed? What?”

She hesitated, then reached down and pulled the piece of velvet from her boot. “Something from his case of precious things. I haven’t looked at it, lest someone notice it, but I can tell there is magic involved.” She took a deep breath. “I know you don’t have any magic, but you seem to know quite a bit about it, so—”

“My parents had a bit of magic,” he admitted slowly. “I am schooled in the theory of it, if not necessarily the practice.”

She was surprised by that, but perhaps the fact that his parents hadn’t passed on their abilities to him was embarrassing to him. She held out the square of cloth. “Do you know the page Connail was talking about? The page from Gair of Ceangail’s book?”

“I’ve heard tell of it, aye.”

“This is the cloth that page was resting on. I’m not sure how much you’ll see in the dark, but I think the words were burned into its surface.”

He accepted the swatch, then flinched and dropped it immediately. Sarah looked at him in surprise.

“Did it burn you too?”

He blew out his breath. “Aye, but no matter.” He reached down and picked the cloth up again. He looked up at the sliver of moon, then peered at the cloth intently. “I fear we’ll need to leave it for the morning.”

“You keep it,” she said with a shiver. “I have welts from it on my leg already.” She looked at the cloth, but she didn’t dare touch it again. “Do you truly think Daniel is trying to collect other pages of Gair of Ceangail’s book?”

Ruith took a deep breath. “I’m beginning to.”

“What will we do?”

He folded up the cloth and shoved it down the side of his boot. It must not have pained him as much as it had her, for he didn’t flinch. “We’ll continue along after him.” He looked up at the sky again, then turned to her. “I think he might be the one who attacked Lord Urchaid.”

“Do you think so?” she asked in surprise. “Then we’re not far behind him.”

“I think we still have a fair amount of travel before us,” he said slowly, “for I suspect Urchaid was lying there longer than he claims. Perhaps to admit otherwise would be too great a blow to his pride.”

“Is he an elf?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” he said, frowning. “Why do you ask?”

“Because he can’t seem to stop talking about himself,” she said with a snort. “And he’s very handsome, in a cold, unpleasant sort of way”

Ruith’s mouth twitched. “Does he have any other flaws I should have noted?”

“I have a list, but I also think I have a hole in my boot. My toes are damp.”

He smiled and put his arm briefly around her shoulders. “Let us make one more circle, then go back. We’ll leave Urchaid’s heritage unexamined. I don’t think I’ve the stomach for it tonight.”

She agreed without hesitation. In fact, she was happy to leave several things behind her as they walked back to camp, namely the burden of carrying that quite obviously enspelled scrap of cloth. Now, if only she could have avoided another pair of things at the fire, she would have been content.

They walked back into camp a quarter hour later to find the company gathered around the fire, enjoying something of Franciscus’s make that smelled fit for a king’s table. Sarah sat down next to Franciscus and watched Ruith sit across the fire from her. Urchaid reached out to hand her a cup of something, but upset Franciscus’s stew onto the flames in the process.

“Oh, I imagine that’s my fault,” he said, looking faintly surprised. He frowned, then looked at her. “I don’t suppose, my dear, that you have the energy to see to this for us?”

Sarah fumbled for her flint, but Urchaid shook his head.

“Magic, my dear Sarah, is what’s needful.” He smiled. “I understand your mother was quite powerful. Surely this isn’t beneath you.”

Sarah would have silenced him if she could have, the obnoxious fool. Unfortunately, all she could do was what she always did in like situations. She demurred. “I prefer to be discreet,” she said.

“Better warm than discreet,” he countered. “Don’t you agree?”

She would have perhaps said something she might have regretted, for she didn’t care at all for the mocking expression on his face, as if he knew something he shouldn’t. Fortunately, Seirceil interrupted her before she could speak.

“Go on, Sarah,” he said gravely. “I’ll join you. What sort of spell shall we use?”

“I don’t know,” she stammered, feeling completely flustered. Every eye was on her, most with expectation she couldn’t meet even on her best day.

“Let’s try Croxteth,” Seirceil suggested. “I’m sure we both can manage the simplest spell of fire-making.”

Sarah nodded, though she felt a little ill as she did so. If his magic had not returned to him in some useful fashion, the jig would, as Master Franciscus was wont to say, be up. She took a deep breath, then repeated the words with Seirceil, because she couldn’t do anything else. She was actually quite surprised when the fire sprang to life. It certainly hadn’t been her magic that had done the work. She looked quickly at Seirceil, but he was only watching her with a gentle smile on his face, as if he understood completely.

“Well-done,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she managed, vowing then to weave him something spectacular at her earliest opportunity. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He waved aside her thanks, then turned to Oban, who was about his usual work of filling the flames full of things that glistened and glowed, strands of colors not found in the usual bit of business consuming wood. She didn’t dare look at anyone else, but she could feel Urchaid’s eyes on her. Speculating on what he knew—or thought he knew—was bound to leave her not sleeping well. She turned instead to look at the fire Seirceil had made and Oban had embellished. Then she realized that wasn’t all that was there.

Someone had added something else. It was so profoundly beautiful, that last bit of magic, that she could hardly look at it, yet she couldn’t look away. It twisted and tangled with the flame, wrapping around the fire and the wood a whispered song that only she could hear. It was as if it had been something out of a dream.

“Where is Lord Connail?” Ned asked suddenly.

Sarah blinked, pulled away from what she’d been watching, feeling suddenly quite bereft. She looked at Urchaid, who lifted a shoulder in a half shrug.

“He had something stuck in his throat,” Urchaid said dismissively. “He wandered off to see to it before Sarah and her swordsman came back.”

Sarah pursed her lips. What he likely had stuck in his throat were the things he’d intended to say about Ruith. It was odd, though, that he should have left the safety of the company. He complained endlessly about the necessity of traveling with them, but he was never out of earshot of Franciscus’s wagon.

“I’ll go look for him,” Urchaid said, rising to his feet easily. “Perhaps I’ll even take the first watch, so you all can rest. No need to thank me.”

Sarah watched him go, saw that Ruith was watching him as well, then turned back to the fire. The magic that had been there before was there no longer. She would have grieved for its loss, but somehow, she saw an echo of it in Ruith’s face as she glanced at him. His eyes were full of the loss she felt.

Perhaps he too wished that something so beautiful could come from his hands.

She shook her head slightly and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Ruith was looking at the blade he was sharpening. It was just as well, for she had other things besides magical flames to think on. The morrow would bring what it did, a closer look at the cloth, more lovely vistas she’d never before imagined, perhaps even a few questions for Urchaid that might reveal something besides that flawless exterior he took great pains to maintain.

But for the night, she couldn’t help but look at the fire, remind herself of the beauty she’d seen wrapped in the flames, and think on the many things she hadn’t expected to see when she’d walked away from Doìre with the ruins of her mother’s house behind her.

She supposed those memories might carry her through what she suspected she would face sooner rather than later.

D
anger came in many guises.

Ruith leaned against Master Franciscus’s wagon and contemplated the truth of that. He’d suspected, as he’d closed up his house on the mountain, that putting his foot to the path he’d sensed lying before him would spell trouble. He’d thought he might have to come to grips with his beliefs about magic and its usefulness. He’d feared he might encounter a reminder or two of his past. He’d actually expected that at some point, he might find that his soul had been shattered.