The White Spell (20 page)

“I heard a rumor there were two souls lingering in a dungeon where they didn't belong,” the granny said. “I thought a little rescue was in order. Acair, how are you, love?”

Léirsinn eased past him and looked up at him. “Do you know her?”

“I'm surprised to find I do,” he managed.

“Who is she? Witch, wizardess, mage in skirts?”

He took a deep breath. “She is Eulasaid of Camanaë.”

Of course she was. Léirsinn smiled briefly at the woman, then looked up at Acair, who she had to admit was rather pale. She took hold of his arm because he looked as if he might need that sort of thing. “And you know her, how?” she ventured.

Acair took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “She is my grandmother.”

Léirsinn knew she shouldn't have been surprised. She smiled at Acair's grandmother when what she really wanted to do was find somewhere to sit down. When would things return to the way they had been so she could carry on with her normal, uninteresting life?

She wasn't sure she dared ask that question seriously.

A
cair had honestly believed he'd seen it all. He had enjoyed spectacular sunsets and the occasional lovely sunrise—he was not an early riser by nature—priceless treasures, gilded halls with thrones he'd lounged on whenever possible, and magic that was nothing short of breathtaking. He had reveled in everything the world had had to offer and then quite a bit more that he'd taken without invitation.

He had never in his long life thought he would ever see the granddaughter of the wizardess Nimheil standing in a dungeon dressed all in black, come to rescue him.

“Um,” he managed.

Eulasaid only laughed softly. “And so the journey is repaid tenfold.” She put her hand briefly on his arm, then turned to Léirsinn. “And you are Léirsinn of Sàraichte.”

Léirsinn looked at her in astonishment. “How did you know?”

“Your pony told me.” She smiled. “He's a lovely little fellow. Very chatty.”

Acair glanced at Léirsinn to see how she was taking that. She looked past surprise, which he supposed was understandable. For a gel who had fainted at the sight of wings on her horse, she had shown a remarkably strong stomach over the course of the past several hours, facing all sorts of things he was certain she hadn't wanted to believe.

“Of course,” Léirsinn said faintly. “I don't suppose that if you're rescuing us, you could point me toward the barn so I can liberate that chatty pony, could you? I can't leave without him.”

“Oh, not to worry, love.” Eulasaid patted her pocket. “I have him right here. You might want to take him to Hearn to investigate his genealogy properly, but in my brief conversation with him, we identified at least one of his noble dams who had magic. I suggested a pair of shapes he might try and he took to the smallest without any trouble.”

“Shapes,” Léirsinn echoed, but the word was more of a choked whisper than anything.

“You might be surprised by what lies inside those you love.” Eulasaid smiled. “You see, I'm a gardener by trade and I like to see the possibilities in things. Seeds, horses, grandsons.”

Acair was still trying to find his tongue, but if he'd had a better grasp on his traitorous form, he would have disabused Léirsinn of the notion she might be getting from that diminutive granny standing there that said granny had never done anything more serious than turn a spade of soft earth. That one . . . he shook his head. The tales of Eulasaid's exploits were the stuff of legends. She had faced off with black mages, renegade wizards, and all types of other nasty things without so much as a light sigh of exertion. She was older than Soilléir, canny as hell, and had likely forgotten more spells than Acair had ever known.

And she was, as he had said before, his grandmother.

He had never presented himself at her table, of course, because he was who he was and she was who she was and he hadn't wanted to interrupt any of her dinner parties. He could hardly believe she would even acknowledge him, much less rescue him.

Truly, his life had become very strange.

“You came to rescue us,” he said, because he still couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

“Aye,
both
of you, Acair,” Eulasaid said with a small smile. “We heard tell that you were unwilling guests here, so your grandfather
and I thought you might be pleased to see a friendly face or two.” She rubbed her hands together. “I'm not as spry as I used to be, of course, but I think we'll manage well enough.”

“I don't want to be rude,” Acair said gingerly, “but we are on the wrong side of Ainneamh's borders and the king is not without power—”

“Ehrne is an ass,” Eulasaid said. “I have no fear of him. I happily amuse myself by unraveling his border spell when it creeps into my garden, so I'm familiar enough with what he creates. This thing guarding his dungeon was, I daresay, created by one of his lesser grandchildren several centuries ago. It hasn't been tended very well, but even so I suggest we don't linger. We still have a bit of a walk in front of us.”

Acair nodded. “Too far for a dead run,” he agreed, “even for me. You should go ahead with Léirsinn. I'll distract the guards and follow as I can.”

“Not to worry, love,” Eulasaid said cheerfully. “The guards are sleeping soundly and Sgath is making a nuisance of himself upstairs to give us a chance to be away. You know Ehrne. He'll be arguing with Sgath for hours over past imagined slights. We'll have time enough for a leisurely stroll, though I think we'd best be about it. I believe I might have left the kettle on.”

Acair wasn't about to argue. He boosted his grandmother, then his, er, whatever that red-headed gel was, then hauled himself through the window without delay. He looked over his shoulder in time to watch that damned spell of death reach out with long, spindly fingers and pull itself up and out of the window as well.

“You have a friend,” Eulasaid remarked, brushing off her hands and settling her cloak.

“My constant companion,” Acair said sourly. “Don't suppose you could destroy it for me, could you?”

“Oh, I don't like to interfere,” she demurred.

“Ha,” he said with a snort, then he clamped his lips shut. “Forgive me, my lady.”

She laughed, a delightful sound full of good humor. “Absolutely nothing to forgive, love, of course.” She glanced at the spell again. “An interesting little thing there. Perhaps I'll have a wee conversation with it later, just to see if it has anything interesting to say. But I think it has a purpose in your life that I don't dare disturb.” She smiled at him. “Let's go home, shall we?”

Acair didn't want to acknowledge the small . . . something . . . those words gave him in his chest. A feeling of fondness toward a woman who could have flattened him with the smallest lifting of her pinky finger, perhaps. He shook his head in resignation. 'Twas that damned spell of healing Rùnach had used on him the year before, rearing its ugly head yet again. He was never going to be free of its vile effects.

“Why don't you children go on ahead,” Eulasaid suggested. “I find that I suddenly have business behind us. I'll be along shortly, I promise.”

Acair considered protesting, but Eulasaid was who she was, after all. Whilst she might enjoy a proffered arm on the way into supper, she didn't need a lad with spells to aid her if she had a bit of business to see to. Given that he was unable to use any of his magic, he supposed there was no use in tagging along after her. That and he suspected nothing he could say would dissuade her, so he made her a brief bow, then took Léirsinn's hand and continued on with her as quickly as he thought they dared.

“That was interesting,” she remarked.

He shot her a look, then shivered. “Wasn't it, though? And there I'd been, racking my wee head for ways to get us out of that damned place with as little fuss as possible. I can't believe I'm saying this, but it helps to have powerful friends.”

“I'll say. Did I also hear her say my horse was in her pocket?”

“I believe you did.”

She was quiet for a goodly while as they walked swiftly through the forest, draped as it was in pre-dawn light. He didn't dare speculate on what she was thinking; he was too busy trying to keep pace
with her. He wasn't unaccustomed to making hasty exits, but he had to admit he was hard-pressed to keep up with Léirsinn when she was in a hurry.

He found himself unaccountably relieved, a fair bit of time later, to see the thin blue line marking Ehrne's western border. He made certain Léirsinn was beside him, then crossed it without delay. He hunched over with his hands on his thighs and simply breathed in air that he didn't have to share with monarchs who wanted him dead.

He supposed that was going to be something of a rarity.

He heaved himself upright eventually and found his companion simply standing there, watching him. He was tempted to reach for a spell of protection, then caught himself halfway to doing the like. It gave him pause, honestly more than anything that he'd faced over the past year.

Perhaps he needed a change.

“Who was that again?” she asked.

He latched onto the distraction without delay. “That,” he said, “was Eulasaid of Camanaë.”

“Is that a place or a magic?”

He reached for her hand and tucked it under his elbow. He started down the path with her, happy to discuss anything that didn't have to do with his own sorry self.

“It is both, as it happens,” he said. “Not far from here, as fate would have it, is that lovely little country, full of all sorts of magical things and beings. Unfortunately, I doubt we'll have a chance to make a visit.”

“And she's your grandmother,” Léirsinn said slowly. “This Eulasaid of Camanaë.”

“To her continued surprise, no doubt,” he said. “She's my father's mother and the granddaughter of the Wizardess Nimheil.”

“One of those women who only dabble in lesser magics?” she asked politely.

Where to begin with that? He decided 'twas best not to begin at all. “Nimheil is definitely an exception to that rule,” he said. “Her
granddaughter is as well. A very powerful gaggle of hens, that lot from Camanaë.”

“Do you honestly think they would appreciate being called a gaggle?” she asked, sounding amused.

“I think any of them would attempt to slay me on the spot just for the sport of it, leaving me to scamper behind my father's mother's skirts,” he said with a snort, “so what I call them is likely the least of what they'd be interested in.”

She looked up at him seriously. “I would ask you if you dine with your grandparents often, but I'm guessing not.”

He shook his head, but couldn't bring himself to make light of it. He had spent more than his share of time in exclusive and very luxurious places, which he had always told himself made up for the rest of his life. Now, though, he was starting to wonder if there might have been things he'd missed out on, things he should have made more of an effort to be a part of.

He rubbed his chest in annoyance. That damned spell. If he ever managed to get Rùnach of Tòrr Dòrainn properly cornered and cowed, he would be insisting on a few changes.

“Where are we going?”

He was grateful for not only the change of subject but the necessity of thinking about his next move.

“My list of safe harbors is very small,” he said slowly, “and the ones where I'm welcome is even smaller, I fear. I believe we should accept the lady Eulasaid's kind offer and make for Lake Cladach. You'll be safe there whilst I turn for Neroche.”

“Where a warm welcome also awaits?”

He looked at her narrowly. “Throwing a man's past in his face is hardly the way to give him room to carve out a new, less murderous, future.”

She smiled faintly. “I don't think you're nearly as evil as you would like everyone to believe.”

“I'm worse, trust me,” he muttered. “You would be wise to keep as far from me as possible.”

“Too late now, I imagine. Besides, you hold the key to my grandfather's salvation.”

He shook his head. “Heaven help you if I'm what you're relying on, which you are, poor girl.”

“I'm a score and ten, Acair. I can think for myself.”

“I'm two years shy of a century, and I'm not sure I do much thinking at all.”

She laughed at him. He didn't bother to assure her that her laughter was misplaced.

“I still think you're inventing most of this as you go,” she said, “but I will admit that I've seen things that give me pause. Your grandmother, for instance, is rather spry for what I'm assuming is a rather substantial tally of years.”

“A tally I won't reveal, because I am discreet like that,” he said archly.

She smiled. “And so you are, to your credit. Now, tell me again how you're related to her? She's your father's mother?”

“Aye,” he said, looking briefly over his shoulder to make sure Soilléir's spell wasn't going to object to that small bit of truth. After all, it wasn't as if Léirsinn didn't now know who he was. Given that he hadn't been the one to tell her, perhaps adding a few more details past what he'd given her in Ehrne's dungeon wouldn't upset the damned thing overmuch.

“And she's a safe harbor for us?”

“I can't imagine she would rescue us only to toss us in her dungeon,” he said, “not that I imagine they have one.”

“Generous.”

“Aye, they are, so it seems.” He paused. “I think perhaps we shouldn't roam about their little kingdom, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because my half-brother Ruithneadh and his lady wife live across the lake from them, or so I understand.”

“And they wouldn't be happy to see you?”

“No,” Acair said without hesitation. “We share a father,
Ruithneadh and I, but that is exactly all we share.” He looked at her, then sighed. “The situation is a bit complicated. I'm not sure if I was entirely clear about this before, but my father was a bit of a rogue. He carried on with my mother for quite some time yet never found the opportunity to wed her.”