The White Spell (15 page)

“Let's just say that that man is one you don't want to encounter in a darkened alleyway. If you ever do meet him, feign death.”

She had the feeling she wouldn't have wanted to meet that man anywhere, which led her to thinking that she would be far better off going back to Sàraichte. Perhaps her uncle could be placated so he didn't want to murder her any longer. In time, she might even learn not to feel pain when she walked past Falaire's empty stall . . .

Acair straightened. “He's gone and so should we be, and quickly.”

“I don't like scurrying from place to place,” she said.

“I agree, actually, but things are what they are at the moment.” He pulled her up to her feet. “I need a place to think.”

“The inn?”

“We can't go back there.”

“But our gear—”

“What we had will be gone. Remember those lads we saw in the gathering room?”

“Aye, unfortunately.”

“Droch's spies,” Acair said shortly. “They'll have ransacked our chamber by now, looking for anything useful to identify us.”

“Why do they care?” she asked, then she realized quite suddenly what the lay of the land was in truth. She looked at Acair. “That man, Droch. He wants you, doesn't he?”

He shrugged. “He's not fond of me. If he had the chance to do me an ill turn, he would take it simply out of spite, but he wouldn't go out of his way to hunt me down. But if he can harm you in the bargain, he would do it because he's that sort of man.”

“I don't think I like this place,” she managed.

“Very wise,” he said. “Let's go see about your horse, then we'll find a place to hole up for a bit. I think I'm finished with crouching behind piles of rubbish.”

She had to agree that a bit of fresh air would be very welcome
and she quite happily left that pile of rotting veg behind and walked quickly with Acair, trusting he would be able to find her horse.

The truth was, whilst she would happily look at Falaire, she had no idea what she would do about him when she saw him. The thought of him going to a man like that Master Droch was almost more than she could take.

She turned away from the thought because there was nothing she could do about it short of stealing her horse and then what would she do? She couldn't feed herself, much less a stallion. And it wasn't as if she could steal him, then ride him back to Sàraichte. She didn't want to admit it, but the place was a hellhole and she had a relative there who apparently wanted her dead. She could only imagine his fury if she arrived at the barn with a horse he'd sold and she had subsequently filched. The whole situation was untenable—

She realized quite suddenly that she had run into Acair's arm and he had jerked her behind him. She almost went stumbling into the side of a very derelict building as a result, but when she looked over his shoulder, she decided abruptly that that might have been preferable to what she was facing—or not facing—at the moment.

Master Droch stood there. He had simply materialized out of thin air, which she knew was impossible. It should have been impossible, yet there he was.

Impossible, but undeniable.

“I heard that you were in town,” Droch said in a voice that was so polite as to leave ice hanging in the air as an accompaniment. “I am surprised you haven't yet come to pay a call on me.”

“Oh, so many things to do, my lord,” Acair said in much the same tone. “One has regrets, of course, but circumstances ofttimes override social niceties.”

Droch stepped closer. “You little whoreson,” he hissed. “If you think I'll overlook your last visit to my private apartments, you're as foolish as your sire.”

“I vow I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Léirsinn realized Droch had moved to where he could see her and she hadn't been paying enough attention to avoid it.

“Ah, who is this?” Droch purred.

“No one,” Acair said briskly. “A whore. You don't want her.”

Léirsinn would have protested, but she had the distinct feeling that the less she said, the better off she would be. She slid behind Acair, which she knew was becoming a bad habit, but he was tall and unafraid and made an extremely handy shield.

“That one is far too pretty to be a whore,” Droch said. “I wonder what she is to you?”

“Again, nothing,” Acair said. “Now, if you'll excuse us, my lord, we'll be on our way. Wouldn't want to keep you from your important business of making the world a better place.”

“Scamper off now, if you like,” Droch said dismissively. “I won't lower myself to brawl in the street with someone of your ilk. But you will pay, Acair, and dearly for your cheek. And if you think I don't have the stomach or the power to see you repaid properly, think again.”

“I wouldn't think either, my lord,” Acair said politely. “If you'll excuse us?”

Léirsinn found herself pulled to Acair's right as he brushed past Droch, which left her quite happily with Acair between her and someone even she could sense was, well, evil.

She honestly didn't care for how often she'd used that word of late.

Acair continued on at a brisk walk until they turned the first corner they came to, then he pulled her into something just short of a run. She was grateful, all things considered, that he'd kept her to his right side then pushed her in front of him, which had the benefit of keeping her out of Droch's view. She found she couldn't speak. She scarce managed to breathe. All she wanted to do was find somewhere to hide.

“Don't,” he said quickly.

“Don't what?”

“Don't look back.”

“I wanted to see if he was following us.”

“He doesn't need to follow us.”

She felt her mouth become very dry. “Why not?”

“Again, not something you want to know right now. Just keep going.”

She didn't want to know why that was. She had no idea who Droch was in truth; she just knew that when she was within ten paces of him, she wished she could lie down and pull a building over herself.

“Think about something else.”

She looked up at Acair. “Am I saying things aloud?”

“Nay, I just know him and know that what he'll try to do is lay a spell on you to convince you to give up and give in. Then he'll slay you. After that, he'll attempt the same with me.”

She would have pulled her hand away from his, but he seemed like the only solid thing she had to cling to. “How in the hell do you know that?” she asked faintly.

He glanced at her. “I already told you.”

“You're a mage. You said that yesterday.”

“I said too much.” He steered them abruptly around yet another corner, then leaned back against the side of a building and caught his breath. “I forget from time to time just how much I loathe that man.”

She would have smiled, but she was too unnerved to. “What did he ever do to you?”

“Nothing particular comes to mind. He's just an annoying, arrogant git who loves nothing more than to draw hapless souls into his web and terrify the bloody hell out of them. Standard fare for any decent black mage.” He paused. “It sounds fairly vile when put that way, doesn't it?”

She had no idea how to respond to that and she supposed there was no point in arguing about mages and magic and other things that couldn't possibly be true. If he wanted to believe in faery tales
and mythical beasts invented by bards who'd had far too much strong ale, he was welcome to it. She would continue on with horses, because horses were always just what they were, never changing, never suddenly sitting back on their haunches and demanding tea with their grain.

She liked things that were predictable.

“Let's keep going,” Acair said, taking a deep breath. “The sooner we're out of here, the better.”

She considered, then frowned. She had been dragged out of her home, such as it was, brought to a city she most certainly did not like, assailed by rumors of mages and magic and other things that just couldn't possibly, shouldn't possibly, find home in any reasonable woman's life, and she was finished. She folded her arms over her chest.

“I'm not going anywhere else until I know what we're doing,” she announced.

He looked at her seriously. “We're going to steal a horse, then ride him out of this damned place.”

She blinked. “Steal?”

“If the word
steal
troubles you, think of it as a rescue instead. We are going to liberate your pony from where he's no doubt currently decorating freshly laid straw with unmentionable substances. The alternative is your favorite horse going off with that man you just saw.”

He had a point there, she had to admit.

“I also need to find Soilléir of Cothromaiche and with what's following us, I'm not going to manage that on my own two feet. We need help and I think your horse might just be the lad to provide that timely bit of aid. Let's be off.”

She had to trot to keep up with him, but, again, it seemed better than the alternative of being left behind. She knew she should have been surprised he seemed to know where he was going, but obviously he had been in the city before. She just didn't want to think about why.

What continued to surprise her more than it perhaps should have was how adept he was at slipping into places that should have
remained closed to him. Perhaps a stable wasn't exactly that sort of place but the stables he let them into without a key were exceptionally fine, which meant they housed extremely expensive horses.

Horses that were apparently guarded by a burly stable hand posted at the front door for obvious reasons. He leapt to his feet when Acair pulled the door open.

“Oy, what are you about—”

Léirsinn watched in astonishment as Acair plunged that poor man into unconsciousness.

“Wha—” She reached for him. “What are you doing?”

“Saving his life.”

She eased past the unconscious man only because she didn't want to be blamed for having rendered him senseless. At least she hoped he was merely senseless.

“Is he dead?” she whispered in horror.

“He'll wish he were with the headache he wakes up with. Here's your horse.”

She felt a chill start at the back of her head and slide down her spine. She reached out and held on to the very fine wooden door of the stall simply to keep herself on her feet. “I don't think I want to come with you,” she managed. “I don't like how you're doing this.”

He picked the lock on Falaire's stall with tools she realized he'd used on the front door, then slid the door open.

“I told you I was not a good man. I'm saving my life, your life, and this damned horse's life. I can't help how 'tis done.”

She tried to shut the stall door. “The means don't necessarily justify the end—”

He turned and faced her. “Listen to me,” he said in a low voice, “and trust me that I know of what I speak. We are dealing with people—” He blew out his breath in obvious frustration. “These men here would slay you with the lifting of a single finger without so much as a flicker of remorse. They would kill me not quickly but over as long a period of time as they could manage. I can guarantee you that neither of us would find the experience pleasant. I cannot
fight them in my current state. You might try but in the end you would pay a steep price before your life was snuffed out, again without a second's thought.”

She didn't have very many skills, she supposed, but she knew when someone was lying. Perhaps it came from so many years of living with horses. They were mirrors, she supposed, of men's hearts. If she had learned anything over the past almost two score years, it was a good deal of horse sense. Acair, whatever and whoever he was, was not lying.

She looked over Acair's shoulder to find Falaire sticking his beautiful nose out into the free air.

He seemed to consider, then he snuffled Acair's hair. Acair froze.

“He's going to bite my ear off, isn't he?”

“Wouldn't surprise me.”

Acair reached up hesitantly and stroked Falaire's nose.

The stallion tried to eat his fingers.

Acair winced and pulled his hand away. He wiped his fingers on his cloak, then looked at her. “Come or not, as you like. I can't force you.”

“But you'll steal my horse.”

He pulled Falaire's halter off its hook and handed it to her. “I can't keep either of us safe—and I'm speaking of you and me—or solve the mystery of those spots, or save your grandfather, unless I have a very pointed conversation with one particular man. To get to him, I need your horse.”

“Then you're not offering me the choice to stay or go,” she said slowly, taking the halter and clutching it so she didn't drop it. “Not truly.”

“I can't force you,” he repeated, “and I'm not quite sure how to persuade you except to lay the facts out in their unpleasant starkness as I've already tried to do.” He considered then shrugged. “If you want my honest opinion, you would be mad not to leap at the chance to be off on an adventure with a lad such as myself, but that is, again, just my opinion.”

She would have smiled but she was too cold to. “You're daft.”

“Pragmatic,” he corrected, “and very fond of my life. Your endlessly hungry horse here is obviously begging to be involved in a fine piece of mischief. I imagine if he could say as much, he would advise you to come along.” He nodded. “Not to be missed, truly.”

Falaire ducked his head, obviously to make it easier for her to slip his halter over his ears. She clutched at the leather in her hands, taking comfort from the familiar feel of it there. She looked at Acair, but he was only standing there, waiting patiently. She looked at her horse, but he was simply standing there with his head still bowed, sliding her a sideways look. If he could have spoken, she supposed he would have been telling her to get on with things.