Gift of Magic

  Mansourah of Neroche, obviously, doing what he did best.

  “Let’s go,” Ruith said, pulling Sarah with him. The only direction he knew was away from Morag, so that was the one he took without hesitation.

  “But Franciscus—”

  “He’ll manage.” Ruith put her in front of him and gave her no choice but to run on. He looked back and saw the bulwark of spells Franciscus had been weaving around both himself and Morag. If things truly went south, Francicus could likely hop over that and leave Morag enclosed in something that would take her a year to unravel.

  Mansourah stood behind that magical wall and grimly picked off Morag’s guardsmen one by one, until only one poor lad remained standing there, looking as if he was close to puking his guts out at any moment. Ruith paused next to Miach’s brother.

  “Leaving that one to tell tales?”

  “Prince Franciscus bid me leave him alive,” Mansourah said with a shrug. “Did you not hear him?”

  “I’ve been distracted.”

  “With good reason. I think we should go quickly.”

  “We can’t leave Franciscus,” Sarah croaked. “I can’t lose him too.”

  “You won’t,” Ruith said, praying that would be true. “I don’t think we’ve begun to see what he can do—and that is how he wants it. Trust him, Sarah. He has no intention of losing this battle.”

  “But Morag—”

  “Is an overdressed, vain, vexatious wench,” Mansourah supplied loudly. “Don’t know why they let her on the Council.”

  “They keep her there for pity,” Ruith said just as loudly.

  Morag glared at them, but apparently had no energy to toss any spells their way. Ruith took the opportunity to stumble on with Sarah along the side of the road, trying not to slip on the less-than-pristine snow that had apparently survived what passed for spring in the surrounding environs. He gave Morag a wide berth, though he soon saw that was unnecessary. She was too distracted by the spells Franciscus was using, no doubt torn between fighting them off and wallowing in her anger that such spells were not hers.

  He shot a look at the lone guardsman who had fitted an arrow to the string and was pointing it at them. The man considered, then lowered his bow. Ruith continued his ungainly run with Sarah toward the lads who had, very wisely to his mind, abandoned the wagon and regrouped under the trees on the side of the road.

  Ruith looked up in time to find two owls flapping down out of a tree only to land as jet-black dragons, adorned with nothing but saddles and a bit of smoke wreathing their nostrils.

  Ned squeaked and fainted. Oban looked at Ruith in astonishment but managed to reach down and slap Ned awake just the same. Seirceil looked at Ruith and smiled.

  “I think we’re short a mount or two,” he said easily. “I don’t mind wearing dragonshape, if you don’t mind putting it on me, Prince Ruithneadh.”

  Ruith was too exhausted to even manage to snort. “You have a keen eye.”

  “And you look rather less like your sire than you might fear,” Seirceil said with another smile. “Perhaps at first glance, but a closer look says you resemble your Uncle Làidir on your mother’s side and your Uncle Miadhail on your father’s side.”

  “A fact for which I am most grateful.”

  Seirceil shrugged. “Gair was an exceptionally handsome man, it could be said, though I’m not much of a judge in those matters. Out of all of you, I daresay your brother Keir looked the most like him. Before,” he added quietly.

  “Then you know of his passing?” Ruith asked in surprise.

  “There have been tales of the closing of your father’s well a pair of fortnights ago borne by many creatures who speak only to those who are listening. I thought it best to keep those tidings to myself.”

  “I imagine you did,” Ruith agreed. “Very well, if dragonshape suits you, I’ll see to it.” He paused and looked over his shoulder at the battle still raging behind him. “We need to go quickly, though I have no idea where we should make for.”

  “If I might suggest a place,” Mansourah began slowly, “Taigh Hall lies not far from here. It is the last decent hall on the road north before one must either press on and hope for entrance to Bruadair or take his courage in hand and make the long, arduous trek for Gairn. No traveler is refused there, though the best we could hope for would be a scrap of floor in the outer gatehouse.”

  “Agreed,” Seirceil said. “I think we would be tolerated at the very least—unless one of us had any sort of connection to those in Bruadair?”

  Ruith wasn’t about to divulge secrets that weren’t his—which he was fairly certain he’d heard Soilléir say on at least one occasion—so he simply shook his head.

  “None that we’re able to claim,” he said easily. “Perhaps we’ll have to simply arrive and take our chances.”

  “What’s that place, again?” Ned asked, looking as if he’d had another look into hell. “Somewhere with more of these magish sorts?”

  “Bruadair is the home of the dreamweavers, Ned,” Seirceil said patiently, “not goblins or ogres. Taigh Hall is nothing more than a waystation for weary travelers. You’ll be perfectly safe. Now, Ruith will change me into a dragon, then you’ll climb on just as you’d do with one of your father’s horses. I won’t let you fall off.”

  “Oy,” Ned breathed, drawing back from Seirceil in horror. “A dragon?” He took another step back. “I’d best fetch my gear from the wagon.”

  “Be quick,” Ruith warned, then turned back to Seirceil who was still watching him with a faint smile. He managed a weary smile in return. “A pleasant journey here?”

  “Hellish,” Seirceil said, “and made for the most part with only spotty appearances by our good alemaster, who is definitely more than he seems.”

  “Is there anything you don’t know?” Ruith asked sourly.

  Seirceil only smiled. “I am an obscure son of an obscure lord, Your Highness. That anonymity permits me to observe things that others might not be privy to. So, aye, I knew who you all were, including Lord Urchaid, but discretion dictated that I keep silent. And to answer what you haven’t asked, our journey has been uneventful in all the ways that count, for we are very unimportant players in a grand drama. And thankfully we are players who are missing two hounds that Oban turned into birds and sent flapping off to Lake Cladach to put themselves in the care of Prince Sgath.”

  “Thank heavens,” Ruith said, with feeling.

  “I thought you might feel that way.” Seirceil turned and walked away. “Dragonshape, Your Highness, if it isn’t too much trouble. I’m afraid I might turn into something unrecognizable if I do it myself.”

  Ruith obliged him, shot Ned a warning look he correctly interpreted as a command to go mount up, then looked at Oban. He gestured toward to Tarbh. “If you don’t mind, Master Oban. We’re in a fair bit of haste, I fear.”

  Oban shoved his sleeves up above his elbows, straightened his hat, then marched over to the dragon, trailing spells that turned into wee dragons and flapped off behind him. Ruith looked at Mansourah.

  “And you?”

  “I think I can manage wings myself,” Mansourah said dryly, “though I thank you for your concern.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I didn’t say this before, but I think we should tread carefully at Taigh Hall.”

  “Why?” Ruith asked.

  “Because we’re in the north and traveling even further north,” Mansourah said. He seemed to consider, then shrugged. “Things are different there.”

  “If they have a hot fire and scrap of floor we can use, I’ll allow them all the strange happenings they want.”

  Mansourah only nodded and walked away. Ruith turned and found Sarah standing next to him, watching what was still a very unpleasant though relatively contained battle between her grandfather and the queen of An-uallach. She glanced briefly at him.

  “He’ll win, won’t he?” she asked very quietly. “Franciscus, I mean.”

  “Your grandfather is centuries old, lo
ve,” he said just as quietly, “and cannier than either of us can imagine. I think I can safely guarantee you that if things become too dodgy, he’ll turn Morag into something humiliating. A skunk, or a mangy racoon, perhaps. Or a stone in the road that’s endlessly cursed for laming horses and breaking carriage axles. But he won’t be vanquished by her. And if I might suggest the same thing he would suggest, we should be on our way. He’ll be along soon enough.”

  Sarah nodded uneasily, but walked with him to where Ruathar crouched, waiting patiently. Within moments, they were airborne, hidden by Ruith’s most potent spell of glamour.

  He spared a grateful thought for the fact that Morag couldn’t shapechage, then hoped they had seen the last of her. He imagined if Franciscus had anything to say about it, they had.

  One enemy crossed off the list, an indeterminate number of others still to go.

  He had the feeling the rest of them might not be dispatched so easily.

  Ten

  S

  arah wondered if the day would ever come when she could climb off the back of a dragon and find her legs steady beneath her. She leaned on Ruathar, clutching the saddle he had so thoughtfully provided for her until she’d stopped shaking. She didn’t realize he had turned himself back into a horse until she lifted her head and looked at him. He stared at her from limpid eyes that were full of stars and wildness. She supposed she would eventually grow accustomed to his and his brother’s changing themselves into whatever suited them, perhaps in the same distant year when she’d grown accustomed to the fact that her life was not at all what she’d expected it would be.

  “Well, this is interesting.”

  She realized Ruith was standing next to her. She half expected him to tell her to hop back up in the saddle because safety was definitely not to be found where they were.

  Instead, he was simply frowning at what looked at first glance to be an enormous hunting lodge. It was protected by no more than the same sort of rock wall surrounding the homesteads she’d seen below her as they had made their way north. There were stables tucked into the corner to her right and what looked to be a guardhouse near those, all surrounded by a thick forest of stately pines. If the lord of the hall had delusions of it being any sort of grand palace, she couldn’t see it. She looked up at Ruith.

  “What had you expected?” she asked.

  “I have no idea,” he said frankly. “I’m not even sure what this place is, and I don’t mean merely where it is on a map. Mansourah was particularly closemouthed about it all.” He paused and looked at her. “What do you see?”

  “I don’t think there are any nefarious mages waiting behind that wall.” She shrugged. “I don’t see anything, really. It certainly feels nothing like An-uallach.”

  “We can be grateful for that—”

  Sarah found herself suddenly pulled behind him, but since that wasn’t an unusual thing, she didn’t protest. Their horses backed up behind her, as if they thought it might be wise to remove themselves from a fray which Sarah saw might become reality very soon thanks to the men suddenly pouring out of not only the front door but the surrounding forest as well. They didn’t seem to mind so much about the humans standing in front of them, but they were obviously not at all happy about Seirceil who was still crouching ten feet away from them in glorious dragonshape. Mansourah caused a bit more commotion as he suddenly unspun himself from whatever brisk breeze he’d been traveling as. He turned and looked at Ruith, his eyes full of delight and something else not nearly as tame, and pointed at Seirceil.

  “You should do something about him.”

  Ruith stared at him evenly. “Is there any point in that, or are we going to be taking wing again right away?”

  “Shapechanging doesn’t go over well here.”

  Sarah started to point out that he likely should have said something about that earlier but Ruith beat her to it.

  “And you couldn’t have told me this sooner?” he asked incredulously.

  “You were distracted. Do something about Seirceil, then we’ll see about the rest.”

  Ruith cursed him succinctly, then turned Seirceil back into his own shape. The ragtag group of guards came to an abrupt halt some thirty paces away, but they didn’t put away their swords and their archers didn’t take their arrows away from their strings.

  “Let me pave the way,” Mansourah said, half under his breath. “With some success, I hope.”

  “Mansourah, if you’ve led us into a trap—” Ruith growled.

  Mansourah looked at him with a bit of a smile. “Now, Ruith, why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re responsible for several episodes in my youth that resulted in my grandfather shouting me half deaf, which means I don’t trust you.”

  Mansourah put his hand over his heart. “I’m hurt, Ruith, truly hurt.”

  “You will be in truth if this turns into something foul.”

  Sarah found Mansourah winking at her before he turned and walked away. She would have smiled at the list Ruith was making not entirely under his breath of the things he would do to Miach’s brother if he had a free quarter hour, but she was suddenly too busy trying not to wring her hands. If they had escaped one piece of peril only to plunge themselves into another . . .

  Mansourah kept his hands in plain sight as he contined to walk forward. He stopped a discreet distance away from the captain of what apparently passed for guardsmen at Taigh Hall.

  “Mansourah of Neroche,” he said politely, “with friends, here to see Lord Cuirmear, if you please.”

  “His Lordship isn’t receiving anyone at present,” the man growled.

  “Then perhaps you would be so good as to let us rest ourselves in your gatehouse until he decides to,” Mansourah said smoothly. “Unless courtesy no longer has a place here.”

  The man snorted. “Courtesy to a cluster of shapechanging demons and the beasts you’ve brought with you? I’d say we aren’t obliged to do anything at all.” He peered at Mansourah suspiciously. “Where’re you from?”

  Mansourah clasped his hands behind his back. “Neroche, as I said before, and I’m happy to just stand here until your lord tires of his luncheon and comes out to see us. You might whisper in his ear that I bring greetings from not only King Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn but my brother Mochriadhemiach, who as you may or may not know is the newly crowned king of Neroche.”

  Sarah watched the man consider, then purse his lips. “Very well, you may go sit yourselves down on those benches over there. Take your beasts with you and keep your rabble together. I don’t like to think what’ll happen to you otherwise.”

  “I wouldn’t either,” Mansourah agreed frankly. “Thank you for your graciousness.”

  The captain walked off, muttering unintelligible things, and Mansourah turned and smiled.

  “Well,” he said brightly, “that went well.”

  Ruith blew out his breath. “Remind me not to put you in charge of my life again, Buck.”

  Sarah stepped around Ruith so she could look at him. “Buck?” she echoed. “Is that what you call him?”

  “I’ve called him much worse,” Ruith said sourly. “Mansourah is a bit of a mouthful and fathead was already taken by another of his brothers, so Miach and I were left with that.” He pursed his lips. “It became something of a common name amongst us.”

  Given that he’d used it at Buidseachd to get them in the front gates, she had to agree with the truth of that. She looked at them both in surprise. “I didn’t realize you knew each other so well.”

  Mansourah sighed lightly. “I don’t admit to it often, for obvious reasons. The truth is, I was much fonder of Eglach—Ruith’s older brother, you know—than I ever was of this lump of refuse here, but aye, I know him well enough. As lads, Eglach and I were generous enough to allow our younger brothers to come with us from time to time, to admire our adventures and heap praise upon our heads at their successful conclusion. But take part in glorious escapades? They weren’t worthy of it.”
br />   Ruith glared at him. “I hope Miach grinds you to dust all the days of your life.”

  “I imagine you do,” Mansourah said, raising his eyebrow briefly, “though I imagine he’ll do it so sweetly that I’ll never notice. Now, before you think too long on past brotherly injuries, let’s be about herding our lads over to where we’ve been directed before we lose even that concession.” He paused, then looked at Ruith, suddenly serious. “I would, if I could make a suggestion, shield your face, my friend.”

  Ruith blinked. “Why?”

  “Just trust me. We’ll be safe enough if we can get past Lord Cuirmear’s first impressions of us—or so I’m hoping—but until then, I would beg you to simply do as I ask. Sarah, you should do the same.”

  Sarah found that her hands were trembling too badly to be of any use at all, but fortunately Mansourah had turned away to watch the hall and he didn’t notice. Ruith did her the favor of pulling her hood up over her hair. He leaned in as he fussed with the clasp under her chin.

  “If events spiral out of control,” he murmured, “I will change us both into wind and pull you after me. Our ponies will follow, I’m sure.”

  “And the rest?” she asked, her mouth suddenly very dry.

  “That damned brother of Miach’s can fend for himself. As for the others, I don’t think two damaged mages and a farmboy are going to be any threat to anyone here, so I’ll turn them all into snakes and they can slither their way out onto the road after we’re safely away. We’ll rescue them when we can.”

  She shivered as he took her hand and nodded for Mansourah to walk on the other side of her as they made their way toward the gatehouse. She looked over her shoulder to find the rest of their company trailing after them, wide-eyed and silent.

  She wondered as she approached what apparently served as a refuge for travelers—outside the rock wall, as it happened—why Mansourah would have chosen this place when there had been a dozen others just like it all along the feet of the mountains. She also wondered, because it helped to take her mind off her unease, if gardens were possible in such a climate or they simply lived on mutton and potatoes. She had seen copious numbers of very wooly sheep, the occasional plucky field of cultivated grain, but not much else save enormous swaths of evergreens.