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Authors: Lynn Kurland

Princess of the Sword (28 page)

BOOK: Princess of the Sword
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“I don’t want him dead,” Cruadal said. “I want him to watch me for the rest of his unnaturally long life and realize that I have what he lost.”
“And what, pray tell, would that be?”
“His power and his woman.”
Miach tightened his arm around Morgan to stop her from moving, but realized it was unnecessary.
“I wasn’t going to go stab him,” she muttered, “though I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind.”
“I imagine it’s crossing your brother’s mind as well,” Miach whispered. “At least we know what Cruadal wants—not that it was ever in question. After all, he’s already tried to kill me and found the experience unsatisfactory enough to want to try again.”
She looked up at him and smiled faintly. “You are never serious.”
“I am now and again. And I’m taking that fool there seriously enough. I wonder what His Lordship will say?”
“I can hardly wait to hear.”
Miach turned back to listen to Cruadal and found himself unnerved, but not at all surprised, by what he was hearing.
“I don’t think you’ll find the archmage of Neroche so easily trapped,” Keir was saying negligently, “but I suppose you could try. So, if you don’t want me to hold him down so you can fumble your knife into his gut, what is it exactly you want from me?”
“A spell of Diminishing.”
Keir laughed out loud, a sound of genuine humor. He had been leaning back in his chair with one ankle propped up on the opposite knee, but now he dropped both feet onto the floor and sat forward. “And why is it, my wee elven prince, that you think I would
ever
give
you
such a thing?”
“Because I have a name, a name you’ll be most interested in.”
“So, let me understand this,” Keir said, sitting back again. “You want to give me a name. And in return for that name, you want me to give you the most powerful spell in existence. Well, outside of the spells that a particular master in Buidseachd teaches, but I can’t imagine you ever slithered through the doors of the schools of wizardry, much less stayed long enough to earn enough of the rings to even darken that mage’s door.”
Cruadal’s hands were clenched down at his sides. “I wouldn’t have bothered with anyone in Beinn òrain, and I couldn’t care less about any ridiculous rings. And you
will
want this name. I can’t imagine you want any of your father’s rightful get running about, ruining your hold over Ceangail.”
Keir tilted his hooded head to one side. “Who do you think I am, boy?”
“Not one of Gair’s legitimate children, though I imagine you’d like to be,” Cruadal said promptly. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Why would I?” Keir asked, rubbing his hands together absently.
Cruadal took a step closer. “Give me what I want and I’ll tell you who might come knocking on your door, wanting to sit in your chair.”
“I’m not particularly eager to share my spells,” Keir said, “especially that one. You might try Lothar.”
“I don’t have anything that Lothar want—” He shut his mouth with a snap. “Never mind.”
Miach felt himself grow cold at the thought. He’d feared a fortnight ago that Cruadal would eventually decide to join forces with Lothar, or at least try to strike up some sort of alliance. He’d supposed that Cruadal would use Morgan’s name and whose daughter she happened to be as his bargaining chip. At the time, Miach had feared that Lothar would come for Morgan because he would want to take her power.
But now he was certain that Lothar would do that only after he’d forced her to open the well.
Cruadal clasped his hands behind his back. “Perhaps, since you’re not inclined to give me what I want, I might be willing to settle for the second spell I wanted from you.”
“And what would that be?”
“A spell of opening.”
“Well,” Keir said very softly, “that’s an interesting thing to want. What is it you intend to open?”
“Nothing in particular,” he said. “Nothing of import. It would be a trivial thing to give when weighed against what I would give you in return. Trust me, this soul would truly be a threat to your comfortable life.”
Keir looked at him for a moment, then called for parchment and ink. He penned something quickly, handed it to a servant, then looked at Cruadal. “You give me the name; I’ll give you the spell.”
“I want the spell first.”
“I imagine you do,” Keir said coolly. He waved his servant on, then stopped him just before he handed Cruadal the paper. “The name.”
“Mhorghain of Ceangail.”
“She’s dead,” Keir said.
“She’s not,” Cruadal returned. “I saw her with my own eyes. She is a legitimate heir to your father’s throne, which might trouble you a bit, don’t you agree?”
Keir lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I can’t imagine why.”
Cruadal took hold of the sheaf. “Which bastard are you?”
“I’m none.”
Cruadal tugged until the servant finally released the paper with the spell written on it. Cruadal glared at the man, then at Keir. “Who are you then?”
Keir lifted his hood back off his face. Cruadal gasped.
“Who . . .”
“Keir,” Keir said easily. “The eldest.”
Cruadal cast a spell of binding. Miach stopped himself with a spell of protection half out of his mouth. Spells had already sprung up around Keir, strong ones, ones he could see from where he stood. A handful of mages stepped out of the shadows, their eyes fixed on Cruadal. He suddenly was quite still. Miach could see very unpleasant spells of Lugham wrapped around him. Keir only smiled.
“I am not without protection, as you see. I’m quite happy to remain here in my comfortable seat, no matter which of my siblings might be alive. Now, since you have your spell, why don’t you be on your way?”
Cruadal apparently couldn’t speak.
“Let me help you,” Keir said politely. He beckoned and a dozen lads came forward to pick Cruadal up and carry him from the hall. Miach felt Morgan lean against him.
“He won’t be happy with that.”
“I would love to see his expression when he manages to free himself from that spell,” Miach agreed. “I daresay we should be on our way long before that happens.”
She looked up at him. “Can we manage it?”
“To be free of this keep? Of course. I don’t particularly want to fight my way out of here with spells, but we will if we have no choice. We won’t leave without your brother.”
“And Cruadal?”
He tightened his arm around her. “We need to hurry, Morgan. I am very much afraid that when Lothar finds out you’re alive, he won’t merely want your power. He’ll want you to do for him what he cannot do for himself.”
She was very still. “Open the well?”
“Aye.”
“Can’t he do it himself?”
“Not now. Not after your mother shut it even partially using your father’s spell.” He paused. “I don’t think he hasn’t managed it, though, from a lack of trying. He simply doesn’t have the power to overcome your father’s spells and he doesn’t have the bloodright to remove them. It will make you doubly attractive to him. Cruadal is stupid enough to believe he’ll be able to be a part of any of it.” He shook his head. “He won’t like what happens to him once he’s told Lothar what he knows.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m ready for this to be over.”
“We’ll hurry.”
She tightened her arm around his waist briefly, then pulled away. He heard the distinct sound of knives coming from sheaths.
He remained in the dark with Morgan and listened to Keir give instructions to his servants and thank his mages kindly for their aid. He rose only to run bodily into another man who had appeared suddenly next to him.
The menace was easily seen.
“Dìolain,” Keir said pleasantly. “How lovely. Did you come to rescue me?”
The other man made a noise of disgust. “Rather I should have let him have you.”
Keir shrugged. “You could have, my beloved bastard brother, given that I am defenseless. There must be something you want very badly to leave me alive.”
Dìolain leaned closer to him. “I could torture it from you.”
Keir smiled without humor. “I think you’ve tried that before, and failed. I suppose you’ll have to think of something else. Bribery, perhaps, or just a very polite request. You never know when I’ll decide to accommodate you.”
“Make it soon,” the other said in a low, dangerous voice. “My patience has grown perilously thin.”
Keir shook his head, as if the other’s stupidity was simply beyond comprehension. He pushed past him, then paused and turned. “You might want to follow that slippery elven prince. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could heave him.”
“I had planned to,” Dìolain said sharply. “What spell did you give him?”
“A spell of opening,” Keir said dismissively. “Unfortunately, the only thing it will open is his mouth—and that for an uncomfortable amount of time. He’ll be quite furious by the time he determines how to undo what he did to himself. I guarantee it.”
Dìolain snorted, then turned and walked away. Miach watched Keir come toward them. He didn’t look at them, or make any sign he’d marked them. Perhaps he couldn’t see them at all, which Miach supposed was likely the case.
Miach put Morgan in front of him and followed Gair’s eldest along passageways and down tight, circular stairs until they reached a very dank cellar. They walked through the kitchens and back along another very claustrophobic passageway that led to an equally unpleasant set of cells.
A guard stood immediately. “Oy, and what would you be wan-tin’?”
“I came to torture the prisoner,” Keir said firmly. “Open the cell.”
“But, Lord Keir, there is no prisoner—”
“And how can you tell, Dudley? I didn’t realize you’d been in my books, looking for spells of seeing.”
The guardsman swallowed uncomfortably. “Beg pardon, Lord Keir. I’m just doing my job, aren’t I, and avoiding . . . well, you know what I’m avoiding.”
“Open the door, friend, and let me go in and have speech with the prisoner. He was brought down last night. I’m positive you were having a well-deserved meal at the time and missed his arrival. For all we know, there were others here during the night who rendered him senseless. I should think you would want to know as little about that as possible.”
Dudley gulped, nodded, then opened the cell. Miach took a deep breath and hoped he wasn’t making a monumental mistake. He slipped inside and tried not to protest when Morgan did the same thing. He didn’t suppose Keir would lock them in and walk away—or find it a permanent solution for them—but Keir’s hand was very unsteady as he held onto the door.
“Prisoner?” Keir called sharply. “Answer.”
Miach let out his breath slowly, pushing away the unpleasant suspicions. It was Olc and Lugham and all their permutations that worked on him, nothing more. He dredged up the most feeble tone he could manage. “Aye, lord. I’m here and I plead again for mer—”
“Silence!” Keir thundered. He looked at Dudley. “I’m going to go in and torture him with a spell or two. He won’t make any sounds, but that is of my choosing. Your task is to keep the door locked and pretend you haven’t seen me. I have a particular grudge against this lad and don’t want to be interrupted in my labors. If you do, or if you allow anyone else to do so, it won’t go well for you.”
Dudley nodded again, quickly shut the door behind Keir and locked it, then turned away and put his back to them. Keir walked swiftly to the back of the cell and began to feel along the wall. He finally murmured a handful of words. A spell of Fadairian glamour rent itself softly from top to bottom. Keir then fitted a key to a lock in the wall. A metal panel swung open soundlessly.
“Pray this works,” he murmured.
Miach was ready to. He wasn’t fond of dungeons, for obvious reasons, and the pitch blackness was more unsettling than he’d considered it might be. He felt Morgan grasp for his hand and squeeze, hard. He took a deep breath, nodded, then followed her into the yawning darkness.
He caught his breath as he ran into Morgan, who had run into what he could feel was a solid wall of spells.
“This is what I cannot best,” Keir said quietly.
Miach removed the spells of concealment he’d placed over both himself and Morgan, then felt for Keir’s arm. “Give me the key.”
“What are you going to do?”
Miach forced himself to take deep, even breaths. “I’m going to lock the door behind us, then we’ll see to these spells here. I don’t think they’re impenetrable. We may have to change ourselves into something less substantial to get through them, but we’ll manage.” He took the key, fitted it into the lock, then turned. He was tempted to lay a spell of aversion on the other side of the door, but it would have taken too much time and energy. He gave the key back to Keir, then felt for Morgan’s hand. “Can you simply walk through those spells?”
BOOK: Princess of the Sword
13.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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