The woman looked at her from surprisingly clear blue eyes. “For Lord Seirceil?”
Sarah blinked. “Is he a lord, then?”
“The youngest son of an obscure nobleman from Meith,” the woman said placidly. “Too kind for his own good, or so it would seem.”
“Do you know what befell him?” Sarah asked carefully.
The woman continued to scoop and fill. “Things are stirring in the world, my gel, things that had slept for many years. There are rumors of creatures from the north hunting a particular magic.” She looked up. “And a particular bloodline.”
“Is that what attacked Lord Seirceil?” Sarah asked, feeling her mouth go dry.
The old woman shook her head. “The evil that attacked him is not the same, though I suspect in the end, we’ll find it connected.” She smiled. “But all things are connected in the end, aren’t they, dearie?”
Sarah felt suddenly quite ill. This was the reason she loathed magic. She didn’t want to be pulled into a web of things she couldn’t see—or hadn’t been able to see before, actually—things that were beyond her abilities to control, or best, or even wrap what was left of her poor wits around. She wanted to find Daniel, stick a knife between his ribs, and be done with him. Then she wanted to find a peaceful place, a safe place, a place free of all magic save the use of the word her customers might make to describe her handwork.
She wasn’t sure she could go back into Seirceil’s house and see what her brother had left of him.
“You don’t think just a mage harmed your wizard?” Sarah heard the words coming out of her mouth and wished she could have stopped them, but ’twas too late. “A blond man, carrying his arrogance about his shoulders like a fine cloak?”
The woman frowned thoughtfully, tapping her scoop against the end of her wrinkled chin. “Saw one of those sorts earlier this morning, but there was a cloud surrounding him, so I can’t say as he’s the one you’re looking for. You might have a look, though, lovey. You can see, can’t you?”
Sarah had absolutely no response for that.
The old woman pushed a large sack across the well-worn wood. “Take those, my gel. Do with them what you think best.”
Sarah fumbled for her coins, but the woman shook her head. Sarah would have argued, but in truth she was feeling very ill, and she wasn’t altogether sure she wouldn’t need to find somewhere to sit down sooner rather than later. She nodded her thanks, because that was all she could manage, then staggered out of the shop, clutching a heavy bag of what she assumed were herbs.
She was so busy concentrating on keeping her feet that she didn’t realize she’d almost knocked someone else off his until he stumbled about in a flurry of velvet and lace.
“Oh, my apologies,” Sarah said quickly, reaching out a hand to steady him.
The man straightened, then turned slowly and smoothed his hand down the front of his blue velvet coat. “Not to worry, my dear. My fault for not seeing you, of course.” He inclined his head. “I hope you suffered no lasting damage from our encounter.”
Sarah looked at the man standing three paces from her and forced herself not to recoil at the darkness she saw clinging to him. She shook her head, sure she was imagining things. He was nothing more than a very handsome man of indeterminate age, dressed in a dark blue coat that accentuated his very fair hair and skin. He reminded her a bit of Daniel in his coloring, though certainly not in his dress. He was obviously a gentleman of quality and fortune, if his clothing was any indication.
“Nay,” she said, dragging herself back to herself. “I am unhurt.”
“I wish I could say the same,” the man said with a long-suffering sigh. “I find myself, however, lost in a foreign land with no friends or family. Or means of travel, if you can fathom that.”
Sarah didn’t dare suggest that he use his feet. His boots were too shiny for anyone who might have been familiar with a more pedestrian means of getting from place to place than a carriage with a team of perfectly matched horses.
The man tilted his head and looked at her. “You wouldn’t know of any companies leaving this primitive outpost. Would you?”
“I am not the master of my company,” she said, stalling, “and I’m not sure if he has the patience for being the minder for any additions.”
The man lifted an eyebrow, then inclined his head as he took a step back. “Of course. I understand. A good journey to you, then.”
Sarah nodded, then watched him turn and walk away. She could honestly say he appeared to be nothing more than a man, so perhaps she had sent him off without reason.
She contemplated going after him, then shook her head. She had trouble enough behind her without adding to it. She had a quick look for the rest of her group, but saw none of them. Obviously, the pub had been as interesting as Franciscus had hoped it would be.
She held the herbs close to her chest and breathed in their healing scent. Perhaps she could fashion a tea from them and have it serve Lord Seirceil in some manner. Unfortunately, she had the feeling that no amount of tea was going to give Ruith any ease—
She stumbled, then came to an ungainly halt as she remembered her realization from earlier.
Ruith had no magic.
And if he had no magic, how could he help her find Daniel? And if he couldn’t, how would she possibly manage it on her own? Or if Daniel continued on his present course, would there be any mages ahead of her left to try to enlist in her quest?
She toyed again briefly with the idea of simply sitting down and giving up. That wasn’t something she’d ever allowed herself in the past, but she was tempted to at present. The task before her had again become too large, too full of things she had no desire to face, too far beyond any of her capabilities, only now she didn’t even have a crotchety, supposedly ancient mage to aid her. She was left with a mage damaged by her brother, an alemaster and a lad, and a man who was obviously something far different from what he wanted others to believe he was.
And herself.
She wished she had the power to weave a tapestry large enough to stretch over half the Nine Kingdoms, with threads that would tempt Daniel so greatly that he would follow them in an ever-tightening circle until they led him into a clutch of wizards with no interest in anything but keeping the world free of foolish lads tinkering with things beyond their ken.
But she didn’t have that power, so she would make do with what she could do and hope that answers would come from where she hadn’t looked for them.
Ten
Ruith stared off into the full light of the morning sun. The light should have been a relief—daylight always was—but it did nothing to cure either the chill in his heart or the darkness in his mind.
You can never outrun your demons, son.
His father had told him that once, ayear before his death. Ruith had found it ironic at the time considering how he’d felt about the demon who was his father, but he had to admit now that Gair had spoken the truth. He could likely run every day for the rest of his life and he would never outrun either his past or the path that was laid out in front of him that he knew he had to take.
No matter through which forest it led.
That first step along that path, however, was more difficult than he’d suspected it might be. He stopped, then realized he wasn’t going to be able to take another step. He could only stand there, trembling like a horse faced with an impossible task and torn between the fear of it and the gentle but relentless command of its beloved master that it walk on.
... Inconvenient for you togostand guard over that poormage?
Inconvenient. Ruith smiled bitterly over the word. Inconvenient to do what required so little effort? He shook his head, got hold of himself, and forced himself to continue on as he should have. He ignored the way his legs shook, didn’t think about how he had to wipe his palms on his thighs more than once, didn’t allow himself the luxury of contemplating anything that might lie before him.
He was, however, enormously gratefu
l when he reached Seirceil’s house to find that Sarah had done as she’d promised and taken everyone with her to the village. He managed to get himself inside, hopefully without anyone having marked his weakness. He drew his sword to aid him in fulfilling the task of protecting Seirceil he’d been given, but had to lean it against the wall because his hands were shaking too badly to hold it.
He paced from the door to the hearth and back a score of times, two score, three, until he lost track and feared he might begin to wear a trench there soon. He was torn between his past, the present, and the continual vision of a woman who made allowances for him he didn’t deserve and was too damned grateful for the pitiful things he managed to do for her.
He stopped again at the bedside and looked down at Seirceil of Coibhneas, lying there half mad, and knew that it could have been worse. Even with his dimmed vision, he could see that the mage’s power had only been grazed, not taken. Daniel of Doìre would never manage anything more with only half a spell. Seirceil’s mind had been cleaved in twain, but magic could heal that. A simple spell, half a dozen words at best. A spell he’d used scores of times without thinking in his youth to mend broken bird wings, lameness in his mounts, scrapes on his sister’s knees—
He took a deep breath. It wasn’t as if using that spell meant he then had to change himself into an eagle and fly to the schools of wizardry at Beinn òrain where he would announce that he had returned from the dead and was ready to work all manner of mighty magic to delight and astonish. It was a simple spell. A spell that would do good instead of evil.
It wouldn’t change his life.
He could then rebury his magic as easily as he had twenty years ago and not feel even the slightest twinge of regret. In fact, the entire process of releasing his magic, repeating dutifully the words of a spell of healing, then shoving that magic back down inside himself where it belonged might take less than a score of heartbeats if he hurried. And there wouldn’t even be any finger-waggling involved.
And no one to see what he’d done.
He wished he had an hourglass so he might time himself at the task to consign it to the realms of merely interesting scientific experiments, but since he didn’t, he would simply be about it in as businesslike a manner as possible. He took a deep breath, then turned to examine the spell he’d used to hide his magic.
There were, as he and a childhood friend had discovered whilst about their happy work of appropriating the spell in question, three ways to undo the burying. He could uncap the well containing his magic—an unsettling mental picture if ever there was one—slowly and with great deliberation, which would require time but leave no one the wiser. The second way was more to the point—and proportionally more jarring to the mage—but still just as secret. Ruith imagined more than one dwarvish soldier had used that to release a bit of extra strength when faced with the business end of someone else’s sword. The roughness of the spell surely wouldn’t have been noticed in battle.
The last way took a single word only, but even the book had suggested such a thing never be used except in the most dire of need, for it would send ripples of magic outward for thousands of leagues and anyone with any sensitivity at all to the like would know who had wrought the spell.
Ruith settled for the second, repeated the words silently without hesitation, then steeled himself for the return of something he was certain he hadn’t missed.
And for a moment, he panicked, for he felt nothing at all.
And then the well geysered up, far into the reaches of his soul before his magic cascaded down over him with the power of a thousand pounding waves. He fell to his knees because that magic gave him no choice.
He couldn’t see. He could hardly breathe. He groped for Seirceil hand, held it hard, then spoke the spell aloud. He didn’t wait for it to take effect before he gathered up his power and shoved it ruthlessly back where it had come from and capped it all before he thought better of it.
It hurt to do that, truth be told, more than he’d thought it might.
Seirceil opened his eyes and looked at him before Ruith could leap to his feet and bolt. Astonishment filled his face. “I know you.”
“You don’t,” Ruith managed.
“That was Camanaë,” Seirceil whispered in awe. “I know those healing words.”
“Forget them, forget me, if you have any mercy in you.”
Seirceil smiled, a small smile that was so full of goodness, Ruith had to look away. He didn’t deserve it. He released the man’s hand, stumbled to his feet, and felt for the hearth. He stood with his back to the door, fully intending to flee the very moment the stars completely obscuring his vision dissipated.
Unfortunately, he heard the door open behind him before he could manage anything but to keep himself on his feet.
“Ruith?”
’Twas Sarah. He kept his back to her and concentrated on breathing.
“What befell you?” she asked urgently. “Did someone come?” He realized she was standing in front of him, looking up at him. He didn’t have time to say anything before she’d found a chair and pushed him down into it.
“Are you ill?”
“Nay,” he rasped. “Sympathetic. Again.”
“Daft, rather,” she said shortly. “I had intended to brew this for him, but I think at least some of it had better be for you. Sit there and don’t move.”
Heaven help him, he didn’t think he could. He closed his eyes and listened to her about her work, listened to the others who came in time, listened to talk that should have made sense to him, but didn’t. When Sarah pressed a cup into his hand, he drank without question.
It was marvelous and full of virtue he could taste as it seeped into his flesh. He managed to open his eyes in time to watch her give more of what she’d brewed to Seirceil.
How things happened after that, he couldn’t have said. Events took an alarming turn without his being equal to stopping them. He watched helplessly as Seirceil sat up and began to vie with Sarah in attempting to make everyone comfortable. If Sarah wondered why Seirceil had suddenly regained his faculties, she didn’t say anything. Perhaps she credited it to herbs, which Ruith had to admit had certainly restored him quite thoroughly.
Seirceil was very forthcoming on his last memory, which was of Daniel of Doìre thanking him for supper and informing him that for dessert he would have Seirceil’s power.
Ruith wasn’t at all surprised.
He was surprised, however, to find himself an hour later walking from the village of Firth with a motley crew that he wasn’t entirely sure wouldn’t be the death of them all.
Sarah he would have kept quite gladly. The rest of them, perhaps not. Ned was babbling all sorts of things he likely shouldn’t have to Seirceil, who had decided he could surely be of use to them in some fashion. He was presently tying himself in knots trying to listen to Ned and flatter Oban at the same time. Seirceil had brought along yet another hound, a yipping one that fluttered about Castân, pestering him until Castân, in true horselike fashion, kicked out with one of his hind feet and sent the annoying thing flying.
Ruith approved.
Sarah dropped back to walk next to him. She said nothing, but Ruith could almost hear the wheels turning. He didn’t volunteer anything. Seirceil had looked at him closely a number of times already, obviously because he simply couldn’t help himself, so Ruith had taken to wearing his hood over his face again. The less comment made, the happier he would be. With Sarah, though, he didn’t hold out much hope she wouldn’t tell him exactly what she thought. He only hoped he could bear it when she did.
“I have a plan.”
Ruith tripped in spite of himself. “Another one?”
She looked up at him seriously. “A more necessary one, perhaps.”
He could scarce wait to hear it.
“This is difficult to discuss,” she said, sounding as if it were very difficult indeed, “but I think we cannot go on any longer pretending.”
He found it difficult to
breathe all of a sudden.
She looked up at him unflinchingly, then reached up and pushed his hood back where she could apparently see enough of his face to satisfy her.
“I’m not sure what it is you’re hiding,” she said very quietly, “or why you’re hiding it, but it’s obvious to me you have reasons for both. I also think I’ve asked you for magic when you’re unable to give it. I’m sorry. I’ve put you in a terrible position.”
He had to stop, because he was simply too winded to go on. “What?
She put her hand on his arm, gently and briefly. “I would like to ask you not to be a mage, but to be my guardsman. An elite guardsman, of course.”
He blinked. He had to blink again. It was all he could do not to stick his fingers in his ears.
“A hired sword?” he managed, narrowly avoiding choking on the words.
She nodded quickly. “Aye. You’re very skilled, too skilled for my purse, surely, but I promise you I’ll pay you what you deserve in time—if you can be patient for that payment. I am short what I intended to have at this point.” She smiled, though it was a very strained smile. “Skill with a blade is hard-won, I know, and the fact that it is what you possess instead of magic is something to feel only pride in.”
He could hardly believe his ears. The daft wench was trying to spare him embarrassment. He could only gape at her, speechless.
She smiled gently. “I realized it this morning. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Not everyone in the world has magic. In truth, I think the world might be better off if no one did.”
He had to agree with that, but he decided he would have to agree later, when he could wrap his mind around what she was saying.
She thought he had no magic.
And she was trying to spare him any discomfort over that fact.
“We’ll go on more easily without cluttering up our lives with spells,” she continued. “In time, I’m sure we’ll find a way to stop Daniel, then undo what he’s done so far. Perhaps we’ll eventually collect enough injured mages to make up a single whole mage, then the lot of them can do what needs to be done. But until then I’m quite sure I need a guardsman to watch over me.” She looked up at him. “Is it a bargain?”