A Tapestry of Spells

  “That’s the other thing the trees do,” she said before she thought better of it. “They watch. But the trees down there don’t.” She nodded down toward the path they had yet to ride. “At least the ones at the feet of the mountain don’t.”

  “Sarah, what else do you see?” he asked with an uncomfortable laugh.

  She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Magic, mostly.” She swallowed less comfortably than she would have liked. “I never saw anything in Doìre. I don’t know what’s happening to me.” She paused. “I thought there for a bit that I was losing my mind.”

  “I don’t think so.” He looked up at the sky for a moment or two, then at her. “There was—is, rather—something less than wholesome about Shettlestoune as a whole and Doire in particular. Something that deadens sight and causes spells to go awry.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked in surprise.

  “I wouldn’t know, but I’ve heard as much,” he said. “But I don’t think the same holds true here until we reach those unhelpful trees you spoke of. I suppose then I’ll have to be the one to keep us safe.” He took a deep breath. “Shall we go?”

  She nodded, though it was a reluctant nod. She had one last look at the lake behind her, saw a flash of sunlight on a ripple, then turned away. She wanted to believe she would see it again, find herself in a place halfway as lovely, but she wasn’t sure she would manage it.

  But she would hope for it just the same.

  It took a day of hard riding to catch up to the company, and half a se’nnight later as she walked along behind them, she wished it had taken much longer. Whatever peace she had found on Lake Cladach had been replaced with nagging worries that seemed to affect Ruith just as greatly. They saw no sign of Daniel, but that was no guarantee that he wasn’t stirring up trouble somewhere.

  It came to the point where Ruith’s mutterings under his breath began to vex not only her but the rest of them as well. He finally shot her a meaningful look, then announced that he was going to ride ahead and see how the road looked. Even Oban, who seemed less eager than she to be without him, had shooed him on freely.

  That had been earlier that morning. Now she studied her knife as she walked, trying to decipher the runes etched into the blade and wrapped around the hilt. She had little success, though she couldn’t deny that they gave her a certain measure of security if only because they had already proven themselves in battle. She would have felt better if Ruith had been walking next to her with his own selection of sharp things, but since he wasn’t, she would just take what comfort her blades gave her and make do.

  At least she hadn’t seen anything more of the trolls—yet. She hadn’t wanted to ask Sgath about them for it seemed an invasion of the purity of his home, but now she had no choice but to face the possibility of seeing them again. She also wondered, when she could bear to, what mischief Daniel was combining. Ruith was convinced he would hunt for more of the pages of that book, but where those were to be found, neither of them knew. She suspected Ruith had an idea, though, for he often spoke with Master Franciscus about forks in the roads they came to periodically. Ever he chose the right-hand one, the one that kept close to the feet of the mountains and led north.

  She woke with a start, realizing that she had dozed off as she walked. And in that moment of sudden waking, three things became terribly clear.

  Dusk had fallen.

  Second, she had fallen far behind the company and neither she nor the rest of them had noticed.

  And lastly, she was standing in front of her brother.

  His spell slammed into her before she could blurt out the slightest protest. She had no idea what sort of spell it was, but it rendered her blind. She supposed she should have been grateful for that. At least she could only see but a shadow of her brother standing in front of her. She couldn’t imagine she wanted to see his face.

  “What are you doing following me?” he spat.

  “I wouldn’t waste my time with—She gasped as the ground came up to meet her, hard. Darkness fell around her, a darkness so thick she couldn’t breathe.

  He cursed her. She knew he was pacing back and forth next to her, snarling, as if he could find no other way to express his anger.

  “If you had any magic,” he spat, “I would take it.”

  “I know,” she managed.

  He stopped suddenly. “You do? Well, of course you do if you’ve been following me. And I’ve only begun my work.”

  “I believe that.”

  The darkness receded just the slightest bit. She breathed very carefully. She might have had no magic, but she was very skilled in the art of keeping the focus off herself and onto someone else. She wouldn’t lie, but she would deflect until she could deflect no more.

  Daniel hadn’t moved. “Why are you following me?”

  “I wanted to stop you,” she said, “but I couldn’t find a mage to do so.”

  “And what of this company of fools?”

  “They’re traveling with Master Franciscus on his journey north.” That was the truth. Franciscus was heading north and the others were traveling with him. Whatever else they were doing was none of Daniel’s business.

  “And what of the tall one? The one with all the weapons?”

  “My guardsman,” she said, before she thought better of it.

  Daniel laughed heartily. “Is that what he is? You’ll need him, though I imagine he won’t be able to save you from what I’ll unleash.”

  “Please don’t tell me—”

  “I will,” Daniel said, beginning to pace again, “because I want you to know what I’m going to do, so you can watch it unfold.”

  Sarah remained silent. If she could encourage the fool to go on, so much the better.

  “You won’t know anything of these names, being the uneducated country wench that you are, but there are in the world only three black mages of note, and I intend to surpass them all.”

  “Do you?” Sarah asked, then winced as the darkness increased suddenly. It was as if she were being crushed under a wagonload of rocks. “I mean, of course you do,” she gasped. “Of course.”

  The darkness eased slightly.

  “There is a place of power,” Daniel said contemptuously, “one hidden from all but the most skilled. I was there before, in the winter, but I didn’t have the right spell to take what I needed. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Sarah imagined he wouldn’t.

  “Breathe comfortably for a few more days, sister,” he said, leaning over her. “Breathe and dream. Once I have what I want, you won’t be able to do either very pleasantly. Here, let me give you a taste of it now.”

  Sarah fell headfirst into darkness and knew no more.

  She dreamt.

  She walked along a road, much as she’d been doing for what deemed like weeks on end. The company was ahead of her, marching along into darkness only she could see. She tried to call to them, but her voice came out as nothing but a croak.

  She tried to run, but the faster she went, the slower her progress until she could no longer see her companions. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked for a shelter of some sort. The wind had come up and brought with it a frigid rain. She wasn’t accustomed to rain, as a rule. In Shettlestoune, it rained only once a month, a singular, unpleasant downpour that washed away things that would have likely been useful.

  This was different. It was a light rain, barely more than a mist, but it was relentless. It occurred to her, as her hair began to hang in damp locks against her neck, that a fire would have been most welcome.

  She looked to her left and saw a fire in the distance. It burned with an eerie blue light that wasn’t particularly welcoming, but she thought she might not be in a position to be choosey. She left the road and trudged over to it through a marshy, unpleasant-smelling field. She hugged herself more tightly and bowed her head against the rain until she stood in front of the fire and could see it for what it was.

  It was a single sheaf of parchmen
t that burned but was not consumed.

  She stared at it stupidly for a moment or two, then reached down to pick it up. It leapt up and wrapped itself around her forearm in precisely the same way Daniel’s page had, only this time she didn’t manage to rip her flesh free of its hold. It tightened itself around her until she was weeping from the pain. She finally remembered the knives in her boots and managed to pull one of them free. It slit through the spell without any trouble. The spell fell back into the fire, bissing and crackling.

  Sarah stumbled away, cradling her arm to herself. Every time one of her tears would land on her skin, the tear would flare up into a flicker of flame that she would have to blow out.

  Her company was nowhere to be seen.The onlything visible were fires, small fires she suspected might be like the page she’d left behind.

  She walked endlessly, catching glimpses of flames every now and again. In time, she grew sotired that shefell to her knees.She kneltin the mud for hours before she managed to raise her head and look again. A fire, brighter and warmer than the others, was there in front of her, shining like a beacon.

  It wad Ruith.

  She called to him, but his back was turned and he couldn’t hear her. She shouted until her voice was hoarse. She crawled, but somehow his light grew fainter and fainter.

  She took a final deep breath and shouted his name.

  He didn’t turn.

  And then the world began to shudder violently ...

  Sarah woke to find someone shaking her. She looked up and found Ruith there, kneeling over her, shaking her and calling her name. He was breathing heavily.

  “What?” she asked, blinking.

  “I heard you calling me,” he said, panting.

  “She didn’t say aught,” Ned said, leaning over Ruith’s shoulder.

  Sarah saw the look Ruith sent Ned’s way, which had him scampering off abruptly, then searched his face for some of what she’d seen.

  “I couldn’t catch you,” she said. “I tried.”

  He smiled reassuringly. “It was a nightmare, Sarah. You fell behind, fainted, and dreamt. Perhaps the rain overcame you.”

  She nodded, because she didn’t want to tell him the truth with an audience there. Ruith pulled her up to her feet, sent the rest of the company off with reassuring words, then put his arm around her shoulders and walked with her in the opposite direction.

  “I heard you screaming, even if no one else did,” he said in a low voice. “What befell you?”

  “My brother.”

  Ruith stopped still and gaped. “Impossible.”

  She shook her head. “He cast some species of vile spell upon me and I fell. That was when I began to dream.”

  “Do you feel him nearby any longer?”

  “How would I know?” she asked crossly. She rubbed her eyes suddenly. “Forgive me. Nay, I do not feel him nearby, but I’ve no gift for that sort of thing.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you can feel him.”

  He shook his head slowly.

  “Do you think we should look for someone who can?”

  He sighed and dragged his free hand through his hair. “I’ve considered it, but I have my reasons for not wanting to.” He looked off into the setting sun for a moment or two, then turned her around and started back toward the wagon. “I’ll tell you of them when the others are asleep.”

  She nodded and continued on with him. He didn’t take his arm away and she didn’t ask him to. She was actually quite happy for the protection.

  Two hours later, she was sitting on the back of Franciscus’s wagon, watching Ruith repair the fletching of one of his arrows. She wondered about him, where he’d learned to do that, why he had found himself leagues away in that horribly intimidating house when he could have just as easily been living with his grandfather on that glorious lake behind her. It couldn’t have been that they didn’t want him. Sgath hadn’t seemed angry with Ruith. On the contrary, he had seemed overjoyed to see him, as if he’d thought he’d lost him and been thrilled to have him back.

  Very strange.

  “Are you going to tell me now why we don’t find a mage who can take us to Daniel immediately?” she asked.

  He looked at her briefly, rose from where he’d been sitting, and put his arrows into their quiver and the quiver into the wagon. The sword and the knives he generally wore strapped to his back joined the blade there. He walked over and leaned against the side of the wagon where he could speak softly and be heard.

  “Because I think he knows things that might be useful if he’s left to investigate them.”

  “What sorts of things?” she asked in astonishment.

  He shrugged. “Where to find more pages of that book, perhaps.”

  “Gair of Ceangail’s book?” she managed, her mouth suddenly quite dry.

  “Aye,” he said very quietly. “Gair of Ceangail’s book.”

  “What a horrible man,” she said without hesitation. “Horrible and evil. Why did he ever write that accursed book?”

  Ruith shrugged. “I don’t know that anyone will ever know the true reasons, though I suspect Connail had that aright, at least. It was to flatter his enormous ego, to show the world that no one else could work magic in quite the way he could.”

  “But surely he had to suspect those spells might fall into someone else’s hands.”

  “Aye, but who would have the power to use those spells successfully? Gair was a thousand years old before he wed Sarait of Torr Dòrainn, fathered his children, then slew them all, the poor wretches. His power was immense, his arrogance boundless. There are others alive who might match him in both, but I imagine they’re wrapped up in their own egos and have no time for traipsing about the countryside, looking for spells they perhaps wouldn’t be able to manage.”

  She studied him for a moment in silence. “You do care about this, don’t you?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Did you think I didn’t?”

  She managed half a smile. “Ruith, I never know what to think about you. You’re a mystery.”

  “Not worth solving,” he said with a weary smile. “But, aye, I do care. Because of Lake Cladach and scores of other places just as lovely, or unlovely, or full of souls who don’t deserve to have their lives destroyed by a lad with nothing to check his madness.”

  “Aren’t there other black mages out there attempting what Daniel plans?” she asked.

  “Your brother is not a black mage. He aspires to nothing more than dirty grey.”

  She blinked, then laughed in spite of herself. “I think the worst thing you could possibly do to him is mock him. He’s very sensitive to that sort of thing.”

  “Most evil mages are,” he said.

  Sarah wanted to ask him how he could possibly know that, but he seemed disinclined to elaborate, so she didn’t press him. Besides, he was more talkative than she’d ever heard him be before, and she wasn’t about to interrupt him now.

  “And aye, there are mages enough with the power to undo the world,” he said, clasping his hands together and studying them. “There are those who have both the power and the spells to do so, but at least for now there are things that give them pause. The tantalizing thought of more power, or another mage who threatens them if they act, or sheer laziness.”

  “Are mages lazy?” she asked.

  He shot her a look. “I wouldn’t know, but I imagine there are a few who are. And as for our dingy little pretender, ’tis better to have him collecting things he can’t possibly do justice to than have another with the power to truly use them finding them without us knowing it.”

  She smiled faintly. “You sound as though you’re off to save the world.”

  “For you,” he said quietly. “For you, and my grandfather, and the widow Fiore who grows lavender that Franciscus covets.”

  “I think he covets more than her lavender.”

  “Aye, I imagine he does,” Ruith said, and he smiled as well. “So we’ll save the world for her, and him, and us. We’ll allow
your brother to continue on and we’ll follow. And we’ll hope to hell we can stop him before he does something stupid.” He reached out and ran his hand down her braid that hung down her back. “You should sleep, Sarah.”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid to.”

  He straightened and walked around the end of the wagon to take her hand. “I’ll help you.”

  “Are you going to clunk me over the head with your sword?” she asked as he reached into the wagon for his knives, then led her over to one of the large, heavy wheels. He sat and pulled her down to sit between his legs, then set his knives down. “Nothing so nefarious. I’ll just hold you. My mother did it for me often enough in my youth.”

  She looked at him. “How maternal of you.”

  He pursed his lips and pulled her back to lean against his chest. “You are a mouthy wench.”

  And you are impossible, she wanted to say. Impossibly handsome, impossibly chivalrous in a rough, very formal sort of way, impossibly mysterious.

  And rather comfortable, as far as pillows went. She put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She was certain she wouldn’t sleep, but there was something unwholesomely comforting about sitting with a man who had two very deadly knives resting on either side of him.

  “Sleep in peace, Sarah,” he said very quietly. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  “And if I dream?”

  “I’ll wake you if I feel you start.”

  She nodded, then felt the tension seep out of her. She sighed as she felt his arms come around her. She was quite certain she had never in her life been held thus by anyone, much less a man who wasn’t her brother—not that she would have ventured that close to Daniel if she’d had a blade to her throat—but she found she became accustomed to it far more quickly than she’d suspected she might. Peace sank into her soul and she sighed in relief.

  “Ruith?” she managed, because she knew she had to ask him one last thing before she slept.

  “Aye?”

  “I want to know where we are tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see if it matches my dream.”