Dreamspinner (13 page)

But nay, that was breath that she was dragging into her lungs. Unless things in the afterlife were far different from what she’d suspected, she was, to her very great surprise, alive. She thought back to the night before, on the off chance she had missed something important.

She was quite certain she had never been so ill in her life. Supper had been disgusting, true, but she’d been astonished at the determination with which it had forced her to relinquish her hold upon it. She had been convinced it had been the first appearance of the curse that would take her life if she failed to do what was necessary before the stroke of midnight.

She fingered the surface beneath her cheek and decided that it was the same bed she’d sat on the night before. She could hardly believe it, but it was impossible to believe anything else.

Perhaps she had miscounted the days—nay, perhaps her companion on the carriage ride had miscounted the days they had traveled. After all, what could a gouty toe possibly know about that sort of thing? For all she knew, the man had been numb from that terrible ride and slept through hours he later failed to bring again to mind. The rest of the journey had been easier to keep track of, but that endless ride in the dark? It was possible, she supposed, that it had taken thirteen days and not a fortnight.

Giving her one more day to speak to Weger and save herself.

That was almost enough to leave her leaping from the bed in joy. Or it would have been, if she’d been able to lift her head with any success at all. She had to admit she felt much better than she
had the night before, which gave her the faintest bit of hope that she might manage to do what needed to be done and save herself. Perhaps her endless heaving the night before had simply been fear coupled with bad stew.

She pushed herself up until she was sitting, mostly, and fought the feeling of the chamber spinning around her. It took several more minutes before she managed to get her feet on the floor. She wasn’t wearing her boots, but she could feel them there on the floor next to her. Nay, not
her
boots, but rather boots she had been gifted by someone in Gobhann. Perhaps Weger wanted his aspirants properly clothed before he did whatever it was he did with men daring enough to come inside his gates. Ochadius had been very stingy with details of his life inside Weger’s gates—leaving most of the details out, actually, no doubt as a kindness to anyone foolish enough to read his book yet brave Weger’s gates just the same—but he had been very clear about what happened to those who didn’t quite measure up. Over the walls they went, without any concern for where they landed.

She put her boots on, pulled her cloak around her—Rùnach’s cloak, rather—then forced herself to her feet. She swayed and felt frantically for something to hold herself upright. Finding nothing, she fell to her hands and knees on the hard stone floor. The door opened immediately and torchlight seared her eyes. She put her hand up against the light.

“Take that away,” she gasped.

The torch disappeared behind the wall, but left enough light that she could see that the door had remained open. A thin figure appeared back in the doorway, then came into the chamber and stopped in front of her. Aisling accepted the proffered hand, then managed to get to her feet with a goodly bit of aid. She swayed, but surprisingly strong hands on her arms kept her upright. She realized her rescuer—if that’s what he was—wasn’t Rùnach, but rather a young lad. He was tall, but extremely thin, as if he hadn’t eaten very well for quite some time. If he had been eating in the buttery below, she could understand.

“Who are you?” she croaked.

“Losh,” he said. “Who’re you?”

She hesitated, then supposed it didn’t matter whom she told her name to in this terrible place. She wasn’t planning on being there very long anyway.

One way or another.

“Aisling,” she said. She stepped back and put her hand on the wall to steady herself. She frowned when she realized he wasn’t moving. “What do you want?”

“I’ve been sent to watch you.”

She felt a thrill of fear go through her. Or perhaps it was the last vestiges of whatever she’d had the night before.

“Have you?” she said uneasily.

“Aye,” he said, sounding slightly awed. “Weger commanded it.”

“Did he say why?”

“Of course not,” he said promptly, “and I weren’t fool enough to ask him. He told me to watch you, feed you, then bring you to the upper hall when the work was done for the day—if you wasn’t still puking.”

“The upper hall?” she asked, her ears perking up. That boded well. “Where’s that?”

He swallowed, though it looked as though it were rather painfully done. “Never been there meself, but I can find it.” He nodded toward the door. “Perhaps a bit of fresh air’d do you good. It’s a bit close in here, aye?”

She agreed that it was indeed rather close in the chamber, settled her cloak around her shoulders, and did her best not to stagger as she followed after him. She would have locked the door behind her, but there was no lock, so she counted herself fortunate that the only thing of value she possessed was still tucked under her tunic. She hoped Rùnach had been as thorough with his own gear.

They went all the way to the upper courtyard, which took her longer than she thought it might, but there was nothing to be done about that. Losh didn’t seem to require any responses from her, so she let him continue on with his endless stream of babble and concentrated on making sure she stayed on her feet. When they
reached the top of the steps, she was more than happy to simply lean against the wall. She was cold in spite of her cloak and far weaker than she cared to be.

Perhaps the night before was simply the curse announcing its presence. For all she knew, she would spend the day growing weaker and weaker until that night brought certain death. All the more reason to find Weger as quickly as possible and have her errand accomplished.

She realized after a few minutes that Losh had stopped speaking and was looking at her closely. She was too weary to try to hide her face, so she simply returned his look.

“What?” she asked.

“Just wondering about you.”

“Best not to,” she advised. “Let’s talk about you instead. How long have you been here?”

“Three fortnights,” he said. “On trial.”

She looked at him in surprise. “On trial?”

Losh shifted uncomfortably. “Well, you see, my uncle shoved me inside the gates and pulled them shut behind me, and I’ve yet to have the chance to prove my skill.” He looked at her and seemed to shrink into himself. “In truth, ’tis only because my uncle is who he is that they haven’t tossed me over the walls.”

“But surely he gives everyone who enters a sporting chance.”

“Well,” Losh said slowly, “I don’t know as that’s the case. He was full prepared to give me a heave right away, but someone told him my uncle was Harding.” He swallowed again, looking as if he were in great need of something strong to drink. “I think it bought me time. Until, you see, I acquire the necessary sword skill.”

“Harding?” she asked. “Who is that?”

Losh looked at her as if he couldn’t quite believe she could be so uninformed. “He is a very important man hereabouts. Perhaps Lord Weger trades with him, or thinks I’ll one day gain my mark, then go vex him.” He nodded, as if he were trying to convince himself as well as her. “I’ve considered that, once I’ve done what’s necessary. That will be soon, I’m sure of it. So until that time I’m anxious to do as Lord Weger says. When he told me to watch you,
I said aye immediately and with great vigor.” He looked at her closely. “Are you hungry, or are you going to puke again?”

Just the thought of trying to ingest anything was enough to leave her feeling ill, but she was trembling with weakness. “I’m not sure.”

“I says you’d best eat,” he offered. “I always find that helpful.”

“Perhaps in a minute or two,” she said. “I think I would rather just stand here for a bit, if you don’t mind. The breeze is bracing.”

“It is that,” he said, though he looked as if he might have preferred a spot a bit less bracing. “I don’t suppose I can argue. Lord Weger told me to watch you, not order you about.”

That was something, she supposed. And if Weger had told Losh to watch her, she wasn’t going to gainsay him. She was happy to simply stand on even the side of the upper courtyard and shiver. The wind was bitter and ferocious, but it did a fine job of making her feel as if it were blowing not only her soul but her illness straight from her poor form.

She leaned back against the wall, using Losh as a windbreak, and watched the men fighting in front of her.

“Best of ’em,” Losh said reverently. “Aye?”

She couldn’t help but agree. They weren’t pretty men, but they were extremely fierce. There were perhaps a dozen of them there, fighting in pairs, parrying with a ruthlessness that was truly a sight to behold. She supposed any of them would have done for her errand, but what did she know of them, in truth? Obviously, Weger would need to help her choose the appropriate man for her quest—

She almost went sprawling suddenly thanks to a jostle she hadn’t seen coming. A hand, scarred and briefly clutching something that dropped at her feet, grasped her forearm and steadied her. She looked up and realized Rùnach was there, breathing raggedly.

“Sorry,” he said, then leaned over with his fists on his thighs. “Didn’t see you.”

Aisling would have said something to him, but she lost her ability to speak abruptly at the sight of Weger suddenly standing
in front of them both. He picked up a black ball, apparently what had fallen out of Rùnach’s hand, and tossed it at her.

“Hold that,” he said to her. “Do the stairs again,” he said to Rùnach. And then he walked away.

“Och, and how many times is that, my lord?” Losh breathed.

Rùnach straightened with a groan. “Don’t ask, and I am no lord.”

Aisling had to admit he certainly carried himself like one, though she perhaps wasn’t the best one to judge. She watched as he nodded to her, then turned and trotted back down the steps she had come up earlier.

And that wasn’t the only thing that was threatening to come up. She put her hand over her belly.

“I don’t feel well,” she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Wine,” Losh said quickly, taking her by the arm. “Och, but you’ve an arm like a girl.”

She supposed she would argue with him later. At the moment, she thought perhaps a bit of wine might help settle her stomach. Memories of her last evening’s activities were very fresh in her mind, and she didn’t think she would particularly want to be washing it off the stone of the passageway.

B
y the time evening shadows had fallen, she had ventured a bit of soup in the buttery and was happily, if not carefully, following Losh to the upper hall. She was very dizzy, but she hadn’t been about to argue with him as to their destination. She had to speak to Weger and she had to do it soon.

She wished she could say she’d spent the afternoon counting and recounting the past three se’nnights of her life like precious pearls in the hands of a rich man on the verge of certain death, but the truth was she’d spent the afternoon asleep. It seemed a poor way to enjoy what could quite possibly be the last day of her life, but she had simply sat down on the bed in her chamber, then woken unable to feel her hand that she had apparently chosen to use as a pillow. She’d had no memory of any of it.

She now followed behind Losh, not bothering to spare the effort to nod at him every five paces as he looked over his shoulder to make certain she was still behind him. She didn’t have the strength. It was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other and continue on.

Losh paused in front of a sturdy door, then knocked. The door was opened, Losh tiptoed in, and she followed him. She ignored the jeers and slurs that greeted their entrance. Perhaps it was fortunate most of it sounded unintelligible. She spared a brief thought for Rùnach’s perfect elocution—the man who claimed he was not a lord but spoke like a lord’s son—then hazarded a look at her surroundings.

The garrison hall was surprisingly large. There were windows all along the far side save where they were broken up by more books than she had ever seen in the entirety of her life. She didn’t suppose she would manage to familiarize herself with them, which saddened her, but business was business. She followed Losh across the floor, ignoring the groups of men she passed who were talking of bloodshed and sieges, then sat with her guide on a long bench pushed up against a rather rustic bookcase. It was conveniently close to the hearth at the far end of the hall, though, which put her within leaping distance of Weger himself.

He was sitting in front of the fire, looking like nothing more than a man who had spent a hard day in the fields and was now enjoying a very welcome cup of ale. She was slightly surprised to find Rùnach there, sitting across from him, but perhaps Weger too enjoyed Rùnach’s crisp consonants and posh vowels.

“I think he’s an elf.”

She looked at Losh in surprise. “What?”

Losh nodded toward Rùnach. “Him. He’s an elf.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said without hesitation. “Of course he’s not. A lord, perhaps, but not an elf.”

“Why not?”

She would have snorted derisively if she’d had the energy, but she didn’t, so she merely shot Losh a look. “He doesn’t have pointed ears, of course.”

Losh rolled his eyes. “Have your lived all your life in a barn? There’s a difference between them all.”

“The only difference is the tales they find themselves in,” she said dismissively, “which is the only place they exist.” She paused, then looked at him seriously. “I’m sorry to disillusion you, Losh, but that’s the truth of it.”

And it was. She was very well-read, having devoured all Mistress Muinear’s well-loved books over the course of her incarceration at the Guild, everything from science to philosophy. The only reason she’d ever heard of elves had been that Mistress Muinear had occasionally unbent far enough to loan her a glorious, tatty tome full of myths and legends of the Nine Kingdoms. She’d gotten to the point where she’d been too old to enjoy it, but it had provided her with a goodly amount of entertainment in her youth.