Spellweaver (33 page)

“Slighe seems a strange place to be looking for them,” Ruith offered. “Doesn’t it?”

Thoir shrugged. “As likely as any, I suppose. I’ve been other places recently, but joined forces again with Ardan earlier in the day. As for the other, one does what one must. My father usually frequents these sorts of places in an eternal hunt for the unpleasant and unsavoury, but since Grandfather is on an adventure and my father sits the throne, I was selected to be off and doing. I would prefer to be anywhere else—Tor Neroche even, watching the steady stream of lovely young gels searching for a prince to wed—but one does what is required.”

Ruith knew what sort of adventure their grandfather was off on, but he imagined Thoir didn’t and he had no intention of enlightening him. He looked at Ardan.

“And you, Your Highness?”

“Slumming,” Ardan said crisply. “Spending most of my days keeping your wee cousin here from falling into his stew part of the time and trying to keep the horse manure off my boots the rest of the time.”

Ruith supposed Ardan couldn’t have been more disgusted with his lot in life if he’d suddenly found himself without magic and wallowing in some depraved port town like Istaur.

“Keeping an eye out for tidings as well?” Ruith asked politely.

“To my eternal horror, aye,” Ardan said. “And all the while endeavoring to remain unsullied by the commoners of very low birth I’m forced to associate with.”

The look he gave Sarah simply dripped with contempt.

“Are you intimating something?” Ruith asked.

Ardan looked at him. “Aye, that your choice of whores—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Ruith supposed that might have been because he had reached over, pulled Ardan up to his feet by the front of his cloak, and acquainted his distant cousin’s mouth quite abruptly with his fist. Ardan went sprawling, then climbed inelegantly to his feet and spun around, a spell on his lips.

A very unpleasant spell of death, as it happened, that left Sarah gasping. That apparently startled Ardan enough to keep him from spewing it out. He looked at her in surprise.

“What did you think you saw—”

“Something you shouldn’t have thought about uttering.” Ruith put his hand on the back of Sarah’s chair and looked at Ardan evenly. “I should be very careful, Your Highness,” he said, lacing his tone with a heavy layer of the disdain his grandfather always used whilst referring to anyone of the house of Ainneamh, “that I didn’t overstep the bounds of polite conversation, were I you. My lovely companion is under my protection. Any slight directed at her will be repaid.”

Ardan pursed his lips, then winced. He put his fingers to his mouth, examined the blood he found them covered with, then looked up at Ruith with fury plain in his eyes. “Would you rather I burst into tears at the thought of your mighty power, Ruithneadh my
boy
, or shall I simply sit in the corner and tremble?”

“
Prince
Ruithneadh,” Sarah corrected sharply.

Ardan glared at her, then turned back to Ruith. “Well,
Prince
Ruithneadh, how shall I satisfy you?”

“An apology first,” Ruith said pointedly, “and then perhaps either an unaccustomed display of manners or simply a bit of silence. Either would be acceptable.”

Ardan blew out his breath, then seemed to let go of his anger. “Very well, I can see I’ll have no pleasure in tormenting anyone here.” He looked at Sarah. “My most abject apologies, my ... lady.”

“Accepted,” Sarah said coolly.

Ardan looked up at Ruith. “While I am ascertaining the damage you’ve done to me, why don’t you entertain us by telling us what you’re doing here—beyond a very unbelievable tale of looking for companions you lost.”

“That much is true,” Ruith said. “We might also be looking for a black mage or two.”

Thoir’s ears perked up. “Indeed,” he said. “And why would you want to do that?”

“So I can kill them, one by one.”

“Barbaric,” Ardan said, “but I must say I approve.” He looked at Thoir. “He’s no doubt looking for a few of his half brothers. We should aid him in his task.”

“Happily,” Thoir agreed. He looked up. “Where have you been so far, Ruith?”

“Ceangail, most recently,” Ruith lied without a twinge of guilt, “to stir up a hornet’s nest full of them.”

“With your lady?” Thoir asked in surprise. “Are you mad?”

Ruith pursed his lips before he could stop himself. “I was,” he conceded, “but I am mad no longer. As for the results of our visit, the keep is mostly destroyed, I daresay, but the inhabitants aren’t.” He paused. “I would be glad to know of any rumors you might hear.”

Thoir and Ardan exchanged a look, then Thoir shrugged. “Neither of us has been hunting mages, but we could for a bit, if you like. Where are you headed now?”

“We haven’t decided on a course yet,” Ruith hedged. “But perhaps north.”

“We had contemplated a northerly direction as well,” Ardan said with a heavy sigh, “given that I certainly don’t want to return to the south any time soon. It seems to hold nothing but ruffians and the rather pungent smell of farm animals—though I honestly can’t fathom why I find myself out in the wild instead of home—”

“Where you could do what?” Thoir asked with a snort. “Elbow your sire out of the way so you might catch King Ehrne’s crown should it fall from his hoary head?”

“I have very sharp elbows,” Ardan retorted. “Unfortunately, I find myself cravenly bowing to my father’s wishes and traveling the length and breadth of these rustic countries in search of tidings he would never lower himself to seek.” He looked at Ruith. “We could meet you in a fortnight’s time, if you like. Perhaps in Léige.”

“But would Uachdaran let you inside his gates in your current condition?” Ruith asked, finding himself as unable as he usually was of keeping his mouth shut in the presence of fops. “Or would you need to tidy up a bit first?”

Ardan drew himself up. “What condition?”

“I think,” Thoir said, his eyes twinkling, “he’s suggesting that you smell, Ardan, and that not even a change of clothes will hide the fact that you’ve seen more of the outdoors than is polite.”

Ardan looked at Thoir. “He is as insufferable as your grandfather. And here I hoped he would take more after his sire, who was not exactly a paragon of virtue and goodness.”

Thoir shrugged. “Apparently not.” He looked at Ruith, then rose. “I thank you for the hospitality and the opportunity to admire your lovely companion, but we should be off. If we find anything interesting, we’ll find you. If not in Léige, then somewhere farther north.”

Ruith considered. “That is very good of you. And unusual, to find such a joining of forces.”

“What else were we to do?” Ardan asked curtly. “We needed some way to pass the time and we grew weary of trying to kill each other. Tossing in our lot together occasionally seemed a welcome relief from the monotony of it all.”

Ruith could only imagine how unrelenting the monotony must have been to inspire such a thing. He watched Thoir bow low over Sarah’s hand, then walk to the door. Ardan looked down his nose at the both of them, muttered something under his breath, then turned and walked to the door, holding a suddenly produced lace handkerchief to his nose.

Unsurprising.

Ruith followed them just the same, helped them out with no small bit of relief, then shut the door and dropped a spell over the entire chamber. He returned to the fire and dropped down into the chair opposite Sarah.

“Interesting,” Sarah said faintly.

“Wasn’t it, though,” he said. “I saw them in a pub, allowed them to follow me here, then thought I’d best talk to them rather than ignore them. Break bread with your enemy rather than leave him in the shadows, as my father would have said.”

“Enemy,” she echoed in surprise. “Don’t you trust them? Well, that Ardan would give you reason enough not to, I suppose, but what of the other one?”

“Thoir?” Ruith asked, then shrugged. “He is my uncle Làidir’s youngest and undistinguished either by accomplishment or reputation, unless you’re considering his ability to leave every poor gel within a three league radius swooning whenever he chooses.”

“I don’t feel faint.”

He smiled at her. “Prefer a more rugged sort of lad, do you?”

“Aye—” She shut her mouth. “If I were looking for a lad, which I’m not. The quest and all, you understand, taking up the bulk of my energies.”

“Of course,” he agreed easily. And the sooner the bloody quest was over, the sooner he could see if he couldn’t convince her to turn her energies to other things. “As for what the pair is doing out in the world, I imagine ’tis just as he says: Làidir is at Seanagarra, sitting on the throne, and Thoir is out collecting tidings for him. Ardan is the crown prince of Ainneamh’s youngest son, which leaves him taking on all manner of unsavoury tasks given how far away from the throne he finds himself.” He sighed deeply. “For all we know, they’ll see something we might miss. But trust them? Not as far as I could heave either one.”

“How will they find us, if finding us is what they want to do?”

“I suppose we’ll see if they have any skill in tracking,” he said. He paused, then shrugged. “I’m not particularly worried about either one of them, actually. They’re annoying, but harmless.” He paused, then looked at her seriously. “I’m sorry for what Ardan said to you.”

She only smiled faintly. “You repaid him well enough, I daresay. I’m not overly concerned with having his good opinion.”

“Nor am I,” he agreed. “Now, love, what of you? Did you pass the time pleasantly whilst I was gone?”

She blew her hair out of her eyes. “I’m not sure pleasant is the word I would use, but I at least had a hot fire at my feet over the past pair of hours.” She paused. “I put the fragments together for you.”

“Which I gave you no choice but to undo,” he said, rising to fetch a table. “I’ll help you, if you like.”

She shook her head. “You nap whilst I see to it.”

He couldn’t deny he needed even but a quarter hour’s rest, so he accepted the offer and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure he slept, but even sitting still without having to watch his back was a welcome relief. He opened his eyes to find Sarah watching him.

Without undue disgust in her expression, it should have been noted.

He smiled. “You didn’t bolt.”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

“You’ll tell me before you decide to, won’t you?”

“If you like.”

“I like,” he said, then he straightened and shook the sleep out of his mind. He looked over the scraps of parchment laid out on the table before him. “Find anything interesting?”

“Put it back together, then I’ll tell you.”

He looked at her sharply, but she was only watching him steadily. He nodded, then restored the page to what it had been. He turned it toward him and sighed at the sight of his father’s spell of Un-noticing. He did what he always did when faced with that sort of thing, which was to roll it up and stick it down his boot. Hopefully it would stay there this time. He looked at Sarah only to find her still watching him expectantly.

“Well?” he asked.

She slid a small piece of parchment toward him, torn on two edges and scorched on the other two.

“This didn’t fit,” she said.

He picked it up, looked at it, then felt the blood drain from his face.

“Ruith?”

He shook his head. “I am well.” He realized too late that she was halfway out of her chair to come over and presumably keep him from falling out of his. “For the most part,” he said faintly, “though should you still feel the need to aid me, you might go ahead with it.”

She sank back down into her seat. “I think you’ll manage without my holding you up. What is that a piece of?”

“I think,” he said slowly, “that it is from my father’s spell of Diminishing.”

“Then we’ve found a clue as to who took it from you,” she said with relief. “Perhaps Daniel found a way to cut through that spell—”

He shook his head. “Nay, this isn’t the half your brother had—the half we took from him, then I lost.” He paused. “It’s from the first half.”

Her mouth fell open. “The
first
half?”

He could only nod.

She suddenly looked as winded as he felt. “And how did it find itself on the plains of Ailean?”

“I have no idea,” he said, “but I imagine we should find out.”

“How would Daniel have come by it?”

“That, my love, is perhaps the most unsettling question we’ve had to answer yet.”

“It could have been an accident,” she said promptly. “Perhaps Daniel was being followed by someone and he—this unknown mage—feared discovery and left it behind in a fit of panic.”

“’Tis possible,” he conceded. That was, in truth, the most obvious answer.

But who could that panicky mage be and where was he now? And what if the scrap of spell hadn’t been dropped accidentally?

“I don’t like the thoughts crossing your face,” Sarah said suddenly.

“See them, can you?” he asked uneasily.

“I’m surprised to find that I can.” She sat up and rubbed her arms briskly. “You should sleep in truth. I can keep watch for a bit.”

“We could,” he said slowly, “or we could press on and see if you notice anything as we fly. I imagine we daren’t ride given what the surrounding forests are likely full of.”

“And flying will save us from them, is that it?”

He managed a smile. “My bastard brothers are vicious, but they don’t have any imagination. If they were looking for us—especially given that they wouldn’t think we would be using magic—they wouldn’t be looking up in the sky. And should they suffer any sort of untoward kinks in their necks and look up in spite of themselves, I’ll have hidden us from view.”

“Flying,” she said, with hardly any sound to the word. “Well, I suppose we don’t have much choice.”

“I won’t let you fall.”