Spellweaver (31 page)

She attempted another handful of pages, then had to shut the book because she thought she just might weep. She put her hand over the worn cover, then stared into the fire for a moment or two.

It occurred to her, with a start, that she had recognized a few of the words, not because she had seen them before, nor because she had heard them in Soilléir’s poetry.

She had heard them somewhere else.

She frowned. There was a mystery there that only became deeper the more she looked at it. It would have been so much easier for Soilléir to have simply translated the runes on her knives for her, especially since it was obvious he had recognized them as ones coming from his native land, but he had chosen not to. Why hadn’t he just told her what she needed to know instead of sending her off on a journey with books in hand and no one to help her?

Well, he was a mage, and they were unpredictable. Perhaps he’d foreseen the fact that Ruith would disappear for hours at a time and leave her without something to occupy her time. She imagined, however, that he hadn’t been the one to tuck yarn into her pack, so she thought pleasant thoughts of Rùnach as she considered a skein of dark blue wool.

She thought about Ruith’s hands, then began a pair of mittens for him. She’d done the like so many times that she hardly needed to think about what she was doing, so she reopened the child’s book and kept it on her lap as she knit. The first poem there wasn’t difficult and the more she attempted to sound it out, the more easily it seemed to come to her tongue. She wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t heard her mother mutter something in those same words, but that seemed so fanciful, she could scarce credit it.

She saw something out of the corner of her eye, dropped her knitting, and flung her knife at it before she thought better of it.

Ruith reached up and stilled the knife quivering near his ear in the wood of the door—the
closed
door, as it happened. Her blade had torn through the hood of the cloak she had so carefully woven for him, which seemed to trouble him more than the fact that she’d almost put a knife through his eye.

“I hereby resign the position of your guardsman,” he said faintly. “I’m hiring you to protect me.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said, setting her things aside and pushing herself up out of her chair. “You frightened the bloody hell out of me!”

He pulled off his cloak and looked at the rent in the hood. “My most abject apologies, I assure you.”

She jerked her knife free from the wood of the door and glared at him. “Knock next time.”

“I will.” He looked at his cloak. “Shall I fix—”

“Nay, I will,” she said, taking his cloak out of his hands. “It will keep me from doing damage to you. And you may as well come have something to eat since you’re alive to do so.”

He nodded and followed her across to the pair of chairs set in front of the fire. Sarah set to work on his cloak, simply because he had frightened her quite badly and she thought if she had something to work on, her hands might not tremble so. Or at least she did until Ruith reached out and covered her hands with his.

“I’ll do that.”

She wanted to protest, but found she couldn’t. She allowed him to take his cloak away, then watched him heal the rent with a spell. She happily accepted not only food from her pack but drinkable wine from his. Once she’d had a restorative sip or two, she set her cup aside.

“Well?”

“I asked a few questions,” he said carefully, “but not so many as to garner undue attention. I’m fairly sure the lads aren’t here.”

“Did Franciscus come fetch them, do you think?” she asked, reaching for her needles and holding them, just to give herself something to do.

“It would seem logical,” Ruith agreed. “Oban wouldn’t have gone with anyone else, and I don’t imagine Seirceil would have allowed himself or the rest of them to be carried off against their will. He isn’t powerless.”

She looked up at that. “Did Seirceil know you, do you think?”

“He certainly recognized the Camanaë spell I used on him.” He shrugged. “He knew my mother and he knows Sgath. I would imagine at least the thought of who I might be crossed his mind.”

She put her knitting down in her lap. “That must have been difficult for you. Healing him, I mean.”

“I’ve done more difficult things since,” he said, “though I will concede it wasn’t pleasant.”

“Because of the magic, or what it meant?”

He smiled faintly. “You sound like Soilléir. And if you want the truth, it was both, though just using magic was surprisingly unpleasant. It was the first thing I’d done in twenty years. It about flattened me.”

“You did look a little weary.”

“Your tea helped.”

“I have no idea how,” she said, pursing her lips. “It was nothing but herbs.”

“Brewed skillfully.”

She picked her knitting up again, then looked at him suddenly. “Could we go back to that farmer’s house where we left the horses and our gear?”

“We’re not terribly far from it,” he conceded. “Is there something in particular you want?”

“The herbalist in Firth gave me an entire sack full of things. They were definitely enspelled, but with wholesome things.”

“How do you know?” he asked casually. “See something?”

“Aye, thank you, I did,” she said shortly. “I thought I was losing my mind.”

He laughed a little. “We were quite a pair, then, for I daresay I thought the same thing about myself. And aye, if you want them, we’ll fetch them. Perhaps I can talk the man back out of my bow, though I think my sword has likely already been melted down for wagon parts.”

“Did it have especial meaning for you?”

He shook his head. “’Twas just a blade. The arrows I would have again, though, and the bow.” He frowned suddenly as if he considered something truly dire. “I daresay we’ll need to fly there, if Tarbh is willing. Just to save time.”

“If we must,” she said with a shiver.

“I think it is the only way I’ll have more out of you than a handshake.”

“You scoundrel.”

“I’m determined.”

She pushed her hair back from her face with the back of her hand. “Ten women of rank, Your Highness. I’m sure you’ll find one among them to suit.”

“Have I ever told you the tale of Tachartas of Tòrr Dòrainn?”

“Did he fall in love with a milch maid?” she asked sourly.

“Even worse: a shieldmaiden whose only claim to magic came from what was spoken reverently about her swordplay.”

“Must you?” she asked, pained.

“I’ll tell you another about Fearail of Cothromaiche afterward if you can refrain from throwing something at me during the telling of the first.”

“How do you know so many tales—nay, don’t tell me. Your library was extensive.”

“And your mother’s wasn’t?”

“My mother’s was full of spells I couldn’t bear to look at, even in Doìre. I spent most of my time down at the alehouse, reading Franciscus’s books. I will admit he had more than his share of tomes for a simple alemaster.” She hesitated, then asked the question she hadn’t been able to bring herself to before. “Who is he, do you suppose?”

“We’ll ask him when we see him next.”

“I don’t like things that turn out to be what I didn’t think they could be.”

“Which is why I’m always so straightforwardly ardent. So you aren’t surprised later when I fall to my knees and beg you to look at me twice.”

She threw her ball of wool at him.

He laughed at her as he caught it, then reached over to hand it back to her. “Two tales, then a bit of a nap for the both of us, I think. I’ll go out again after dark to see what I can learn after the lads have tucked a few strong ales away. Then I think we’ll go. We would be wise to travel under the cover of darkness.”

She supposed there was sense in that, as well as the added benefit of not being able to see clearly just how far off the ground they might have been. She listened to Ruith begin his tale, then closed her eyes, because she couldn’t help herself.

She lost the thread of his tale, but couldn’t muster up the energy to ask him to backtrack. She fell asleep almost before she knew what she was doing.

 

 

She woke to a kink in her neck. Ruith had covered her with his cloak, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She looked around, feeling slightly panicked, only to find him standing at the window, motionless. She set his cloak on his chair, staggered to her feet, then managed to get herself across the chamber. Only a day into her quest and already she needed more sleep. She didn’t suppose that boded well for the rest of the journey.

Ruith turned his head and smiled at her. “Sleep well?”

“Terribly,” she croaked. “And you not at all, I imagine.”

He shrugged. “I had things to think on. That and I supposed you could keep me in the saddle tonight if necessary.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” she said uneasily. She started to elaborate on the fate that would await him did he trust her with his life on the back of a dragon, then she had a decent look at his face. “What is it?”

He seemed to chew on his words a bit before he turned and leaned back against the window frame. “I’m curious about a few things.”

“I hesitate to ask which ones.”

He considered a bit longer. “I wonder where Franciscus is.”

“With the lads,” she said in surprise. “Don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure what to think,” he said slowly.

“What else would he—” she began, then felt her mouth fall open. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing,” he said carefully. “I just find several things rather too ... convenient.”

She had to lean against the opposite side of the window to keep herself upright. “Such as?”

“Such as why it was he was at Ceangail when we needed him the most,” Ruith began, “or why he was waiting with his wagon in Bruaih on the same road we were taking, or why he found himself as the alemaster of Doìre—pretending to be what he was not—when he obviously could have been loitering anywhere else in the world.” He took a deep breath. “Or why he befriended a perfect stranger masquerading as a mage on a mountain when the stranger was a boy, yet kept his secret as he became a man.”

“Happenstance,” she said, but she doubted the truth of it the moment the word left her mouth.

“Happenstance, or contrivance?” Ruith asked grimly.

“To what end?” she managed.

He looked at her steadily. “Because that stupid boy on the hill was the youngest son of the black mage of Ceangail.”

“Ruith,” she breathed, “you can’t be serious. Franciscus couldn’t possibly have known—well, if he’s a mage, I suppose he could have known. But you can’t believe he would want any of Gair’s spells.”

“Someone took them from me,” he said in a low voice. “Someone who knew I had them. Someone with a power that sliced through Olc as if it had been naught but flimsy spiderwebs.”

She put her hand over her mouth. “Impossible.”

“Sarah, that spell of protection was the most aggressive thing I’ve ever seen. It captured a spell Amitán threw at me, changed it into something quite different, then flung not only Amitán’s spell but something of its own make back at him. If he’s not dead by now, he likely wishes he were. Yet the mage who braved that same spell to steal the spells from me obviously suffered no ill effects. He would have been left writhing on the ground otherwise.”

“But you can’t think he took the spells,” she managed. “Not Franciscus.”

“As I said, I’m not sure what
to
think.”

“I’ve known him for the whole of my life. There is no guile in him.”

“Nor any magic?” he asked carefully.

She felt her face grow uncomfortably warm. “Very well, perhaps I am not a good judge of mages, but I’m not so poor a judge of men.”

He sighed and reached out to pull her closer to him. He kept his arm around her shoulders and sighed. “Nay, love, you aren’t. I’m speculating where I shouldn’t.” He rubbed his free hand over his face. “I have spent too many years looking for shadows in every corner, expecting them to be full of more than they should be.” He shrugged. “I’m just curious about who has the spells your brother so thoughtfully collected for us and what it is we found shredded last night near that poor fool out there on the plain. And I’m frankly terrified that that someone will find the half of my sire’s spell of Diminishing we know is out there in the world.”

“Is that all?” she asked.

“Well, I’m a little unnerved at the thought of someone finding the other half,” he said wryly. “Or the possessors of both halves finding each other.”

“Perhaps they’ll do each other in fighting over the privilege of putting it all together.”

“We could hope,” he said with a humorless smile. He shook his head. “I’ve never regretted more not having been out in the world. I have no idea who is alive or dead.”

“I thought Rùnach gave you a list.”

“I looked at it whilst you napped. It is lengthy, but somehow I just have the feeling the lad we’re looking for isn’t on it.”

“Is there someone who might know of other wretches out to destroy the world?” she asked reluctantly.

“The witchwoman of Fàs,” Ruith said with an uneasy laugh. “She is renowned—or infamous, depending on your point of view—for keeping meticulous notes on the happenings in the Nine Kingdoms. I would imagine she knows every mage with any magic at all in their veins. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’d be welcome to tea.”

“Trample her garden during your youth, did you?”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Let’s just say that I wasn’t particularly kind with my observations about the wartiness of her nose.”

Sarah smiled. “You were a child. Surely she would forgive that.”

“She might, but there is the matter of my mother earning a proper wedding where she merited nothing more than the honor of my father’s company from time to time, long enough to conceive a few sons.”