Seventeen
Ruith sat in the seediest tavern he’d been in all evening—and given that it found itself in Slighe, that was very seedy indeed—and eavesdropped with abandon.
He wasn’t an eavesdropper by nature, his lengthy and frequent youthful bouts of it aside, but as he’d discovered that morning, trying to chat up bartenders wasn’t going to get him anything besides potentially a belly full of daggers as he lay in a heap behind some ramshackle pub.
Nay, better that he simply sit, listen, and watch. Sarah was perfectly safe in the best chamber he could find, protected as she was by the spell he’d left behind, and hopefully doing the sensible thing of taking another rest. He was happy to wait for what the loose tongues around him would eventually produce.
Unfortunately, there was no talk of an alewagon full of mages, though he supposed no one with any sense would have dared speak of magic within Slighe’s borders. He hadn’t even been able to manage any tidings about fresh ale with delicate essences of apple and lavender. The lads in Slighe apparently didn’t particularly care how their brew tasted as long as it rendered them profoundly intoxicated with as little fuss as possible.
Ruith pretended to nurse his very vile ale and continued to watch the clientele surreptitiously, wondering when one of them would drink himself far enough into a stupor to say something useful.
And then he suddenly realized he wasn’t the only one in the pub with an interest in the goings-on.
A pair of lads sitting in the opposite corner seemed equally concerned. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed them at first, then had to struggle to mask his surprise when he realized why not.
They were both wearing elvish glamour.
It was very faint, not enough that it would have been visible to a mortal drunkard, but to one who had spent a good portion of his formative years beneath its shadow, it was clear. He leaned back against the wall behind him and studied the men as unobtrusively as possible. He couldn’t see their faces—they were sitting in the shadows just as he was—and he had no means of even beginning to identify who they might be. The glamour was nondescript and could have come from either Fadaire or Ciaradh, or a happy combination of both magics, though he couldn’t imagine who in his family would have mixed Fadaire with what they would have considered the lesser magic of Ainneamh.
Whoever the men were, they were definitely watching him. He didn’t imagine he would be wise to go over and demand their names. He supposed the only thing he could do was get up, walk out, and see if they followed him.
He tossed a coin onto the table, then did just that. He supposed his sword was an unnecessary burden, though he had brought it along partially out of habit and partly because it made him look at least on the surface like an ordinary lad out for a mug of courage after a long day. It would be of no use against the two he hoped would follow, but then again, they likely wouldn’t dare use any magic openly if they ever wanted to walk the putrid streets of Slighe again.
He started down the street where the only relief to the darkness was provided by light that spilled out of doorways and windows. He continued on his way without haste, as if whatever business he might need to see to demanded no especial consideration. He knew without looking that someone was following him—actually more than a single someone—which led him to believe he’d drawn the attention of the right souls.
He continued on his way, then suddenly stepped into an alleyway, turned, and waited. There was a lamp on the street, but the flickering flame there did little to relieve the darkness where Ruith stood. He hadn’t spent a score of years alive without magic because he was a fool, nor because he didn’t have the patience to wait to see which way the wind would blow, but there was no reason in not being at least somewhat prepared. He drew a spell of protection over himself as a concession to what magic he suspected he would soon be facing. He waited for the first spell to slam into him as his followers rounded the corner and almost ploughed him over.
The men facing him were obviously not novices at the practice themselves. They pulled up short, though so quietly that he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching for the like, then simply stood there and stared at him in silence. The man on the left broke first, after several very long minutes. He pushed his hood back from his face, then folded his arms over his chest.
“Looks like a bit of a storm tonight,” he said in a low voice. “I wouldn’t think you would want to be out in it, friend.”
Ruith blinked in surprise, for the elf facing him was no stranger. Perhaps that shouldn’t have surprised him. The elves, at least of Ainneamh and Tòrr Dòrainn, weren’t exactly a numerous lot. It was, however, a bit startling to see a cousin where he hadn’t expected to.
“Thoir,” he said calmly, pushing his own hood back and revealing his face. “A surprise to see you here.”
Thoir’s mouth worked for a moment or two, as if he were bungling his way through a long list of names, looking for the right one. “Ruithneadh?”
“Back from the dead,” Ruith agreed. He nodded to his right. “Who is your friend?”
“Ardan of Ainneamh,” the other said haughtily, apparently not inclined to show his face. “And you are Gair’s whelp, I presume. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find you haunting this sort of place.”
Ruith felt one of his eyebrows go up before he could stop it. “How troubling it must be for you then, Your Highness, to find yourself in similar straits.”
“You have no idea,” Ardan said, the disdain plain in his voice. “I don’t suppose I dare hope you took the trouble to pay for a chamber here. Perhaps you are simply living up to your appearance and rolling yourself in a tatty blanket as you pass your nights under the stars.”
Ruith exchanged a look with his cousin, who only laughed a little and reached out to clap a hand on his shoulder. “It has been many years, cousin. I imagine you have quite a tale to tell.”
Ruith realized with a bit of a start that his first instinct was to immediately distrust the two standing in front of him, though he had no reason to. Thoir was his first cousin, son of the crown prince of Tòrr Dòrainn. He was the youngest son of half a dozen, true, but he had wealth and status and, from what Ruith could remember of his youth, dozens of elven maids sighing over him everywhere he went. In spite of that, he had never seemed inclined to take any of it too seriously, though Ruith supposed he hadn’t been, at the tender age of ten winters, particularly adept at determining that sort of thing.
He wasn’t unfamiliar with Ardan either, for the elven princeling’s reputation as an unpleasant and profoundly pretentious fop preceded him everywhere he went. He and Urchaid would have made a formidable pair if ever they had decided to mount an assault on the salons of the Nine Kingdoms. They would no doubt send every hostess of note into frenzies of effort to appease them.
He wondered why it was Ardan and Thoir happened to be in Slighe whilst he was. Coincidence? Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that.
But if coincidence wasn’t responsible, what was?
Or who?
He decided that knowing the answer to that sooner rather than later might serve him rather well. He nodded at the street behind the two. “I do have a comfortable spot,” he said with a casual shrug, “if you’re interested in a hot fire and fairly serviceable chairs. My traveling companion is guarding a very lovely bottle of wine.”
“Is he another of our kind?” Ardan asked doubtfully.
“Nay,” Ruith said easily, “but a soul worthy of your best manners just the same. Follow or not, as you choose.”
And with that, he parted the pair and walked between them. He didn’t look over his shoulder to see if they would follow. Curiosity would be too much a temptation for Thoir. As for Ardan, perhaps just the hope of a decent cup of wine would bring him along.
He made his way without haste to the inn, then continued on up to his chamber. He suffered a moment of unease because, truth be told, he cared very much how Sarah was treated. Thoir would behave himself, but bore watching. It was possible that Ardan would be his usual self—relentlessly unpleasant and impossibly arrogant—but Ruith didn’t hold out much hope that he would keep all that arrogance to himself.
He looked at Ardan. “Watch yourself,” he said shortly.
“Ah,” Ardan asked, his eyes widening. “A lady of quality inside, is there? No wonder you’re trotting out your best courtly manners.”
Ruith ignored him, announced himself, then dissolved his spell as Sarah opened the door.
“Friends, not foes,” he said reassuringly.
Her expression didn’t lighten, but he understood that. He took the door and had to force himself not to slam it on the elves following him. He kept them behind him and entered slowly once he realized Sarah had the fragments of spell laid out on a table. She quickly scooped them into her hand and deposited them into a bowl she then set on a trunk under the window. She turned and looked at him, silent and wary.
“This is my cousin, Thoir of Tòrr Dòrainn,” he said, gesturing to the appropriate interloper. “And Ardan of Ainneamh, who is another cousin of sorts. Gentlemen, this is Sarah of Doìre.”
Thoir murmured something polite and complimentary. Ruith couldn’t blame him for that. Sarah was, as he would happily have told her endlessly, a very beautiful woman. A currently quite unsettled woman, but a beautiful one nonetheless.
“Doìre,” Ardan said doubtfully. “What is there in Doìre?”
“Sagebrush and criminals,” Sarah answered without hesitation. “For the most part.”
“Well, it produced one thing beyond compare,” Thoir said, taking a step forward.
He didn’t take another because Ruith put his hand out and stopped him. He shot his cousin a warning look, then saw Sarah seated comfortably in front of the fire. He looked for and found two more poor excuses for chairs, then happily relegated himself to an evening of standing in front of the fire, which would make it a very short evening indeed.
“Who was your mother?” Ardan asked, looking at Sarah down his very long, very aristocratic nose. “I don’t recognize you.”
Ruith wouldn’t have blamed Sarah if she’d glared at him for his part in bringing two elves home with him, as it were, but he also supposed she knew by now that he couldn’t stomach pompous fools any more than she could. He only watched her steadily, catching just the briefest glance from her before she looked at Ardan.
“My mother was the witchwoman Seleg,” she said calmly. “As to the identity of my father, your guess, Your Highness, is as good as mine.”
The reaction was predictable. Ardan spluttered for a moment or two, coming close to an animated case of the vapors. Thoir only smiled at Sarah, seemingly unfazed by her lack of pedigree.
“You are obviously her finest work.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said with a polite smile. She looked at Ardan. “Would you care for something to drink, Prince Ardan? To ease your suffering?”
Ardan looked for a moment torn between choking to death and accepting, but apparently his instinct for self-preservation was very strong because he accepted a cup of wine with only a small grimace of distaste. Ruith watched him for a moment, then turned to Thoir, who had said something to him he hadn’t marked.
“I’m sorry,” Ruith said. “I was distracted.”
“Understandable,” Thoir said with a nod at Sarah. “I had simply asked why you found yourself here in Slighe.”
Ruith shrugged. “Looking for companions we had a month or so ago, but seem to have missed. And you?”
Thoir shrugged as well. “I’ve heard rumors of things let loose in the world. Spells and that sort of rot.”
“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.”
“You haven’t so far.”
“Not recently, at least,” he agreed quietly. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together. “We could first make for the farmer’s house where we left your herbs, if you like. Then I think we should head for Léige.”
“To look for your brother?”
Ruith nodded. “I need him to make a proper list of spells. I think I remember most of them, but only Keir would know for sure. If he’s not still there—which he very well could be, with Mhorghain and the rest of them—we might learn where he’s gone.”
She fussed with her pack. “And will the king allow us entrance? I mean me, actually—”
“I was counting on you to sneak me in,” Ruith said with a smile.
She pursed her lips at him, then rose and began to gather her gear together. “I very much doubt I’ll be of any help in that, but I will bribe him with a bit of weaving if possible.” She glanced at him. “I hope your brother is there.”
“I do too,” he said, with feeling, and for more reasons than just Keir’s memory. After having spent even a pair of days with Rùnach, Ruith realized just how much he’d missed his brothers.
“Ruith?”
He looked up. “Aye, love?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
She took a deep breath. “For defending my honor.” She held out her hand. “I appreciate it.”
He walked over to her, took her hand, then bent and kissed it. “It was very willingly done, my lady.”
She attempted a smile, but didn’t succeed. “That’s quite a title for the bastard daughter of an obscure witchwoman.”
“Given by the legitimate son of the black mage of Ceangail,” Ruith said with a huff of a laugh. “We’re a delightfully matched pair.” He squeezed her hand, then released it. “Let’s be off. You know how much I love the opportunities that flying affords me where you are concerned.”
“Lecher.”
“Aye,” he agreed pleasantly, then went to fetch his own gear. It took him longer than it should have. Troubling thoughts did that to a man, he supposed.
It wasn’t possible that someone other than Daniel had left behind a fragment of his father’s spell of Diminishing, a fragment from the part that he himself hadn’t had his hands on less than a month ago.
Was it?
The thought of it was enough to make him feel rather ill. He didn’t suppose he dared hope that the two halves of that spell wouldn’t find each other. The only thing that eased his mind in the slightest was that he felt certain if someone had put the two halves of the spell together, the world would have ended already.
That life carried on was a bit of a relief.
He busied himself with packing up their gear and making sure Sarah was distracted from thoughts of flight. If he was also distracted in the process, so much the better. There would be time enough for thinking terrible thoughts later.
Perhaps whilst he was about the unenviable task of convincing Uachdaran of Léige to allow him inside the gates instead of slaying him on the spot.