by Lynn Kurland
A guardsman appeared suddenly, simply bristling with weapons and surliness. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Er, Buck,” Acair said.
“Buck,” the man repeated. He looked over his shoulder. “Another of ’em. He looks to be kin of the one we let in last year.”
“’Tis a family name,” Acair said quickly. “There are many of us.”
Léirsinn would have asked him what the hell he was doing, giving a name that wasn’t his, but what did she know of these sorts of things either? ’Twas obvious that Acair moved in a level of society she didn’t understand. At the moment, she thought she might be rather happy about that.
Another guardsman came eventually to take the first’s place. He looked equally surly yet far less prone to surprise. He sized Acair up, then pursed his lips.
“Family name?” he asked skeptically.
“I fear it might be,” Acair said, “amongst some of my kin.”
“I believe I know the kin that name might find itself amongst,” the man said, “and I’m not sure I haven’t seen you here before a time or two as well.” He considered Acair a bit longer, then shrugged negligently. “Him you’re looking for isn’t here.”
Acair looked at him in frank surprise. “How can you possibly know who I’m looking for?”
“Because I am far less stupid than my fellows, which is why I’m captain of the guard and not one of the regular lads,” the man said. “If you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Oh, please, say on,” Acair said in exasperation. “Where the hell is he, then, if not here where he’s supposed to be?”
“Off on holiday.”
Acair’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Léirsinn thought he might be the one who needed a stiff drink sooner rather than later. He finally shook his head enough that apparently he shook sense back into it.
“On holiday where?” he demanded.
“Tor Neroche,” the guard captain said with a bit of a smirk.
“Of course,” Acair said bitterly, “where else?”
“Seanagarra?”
Acair shot the man a look that should have had him backing up a pace or two. Léirsinn was very impressed that he didn’t so much as twitch. There was a fellow who obviously dealt with his share of feisty stallions. She had no idea why Acair found that name so offensive, but what did she know of anywhere outside her barn? She was moving in a world she wasn’t accustomed to.
She wasn’t sure she liked it, truth be told.
“Your humor is misplaced,” Acair said coldly.
“And I’m safely tucked inside the gates, which offers me the safety to exercise my tongue even at the expense of someone like you.”
Léirsinn wanted to hold up her hand and ask exactly what the man meant by that but before she could, Acair was distracting her with some extremely vile language.
“That coward,” he said finally, apparently having exhausted a rather long list of slurs. “What gives him leave to take a bloody holiday?”
“Are you going to be the one to tell him he cannot?” the guard captain asked politely.
“Aye, the first chance I have!”
“Feel free to do so, my—”
“Buck,” Acair interrupted. “Just Buck.”
“Buck,” the man repeated slowly. He shook his head. “Not very original, but I don’t suppose you care about my opinion. Since you’ve made the trip here, would you care to see anyone else, Master Buck?”
“Thank you, but nay.”
Léirsinn wasn’t sure what she expected, but to have the conversation end without any further niceties was definitely not it. Acair nodded briskly to the guard, nodded at her, then walked away. She didn’t bother with the guard. She ran after Acair because she wasn’t about to be left behind in a strange city where she knew absolutely no one, had absolutely no money, and didn’t have a bloody clue how to get herself back to where she’d come from.
Acair paused, waited for her to catch up to him, then cursed and strode furiously down the street.
“Who is Soilléir?” she managed, running to keep up with him.
“No one of import,” Acair snarled. “Just a bloody—ah, damn it all, what next?”
Kitchen refuse, apparently. Léirsinn couldn’t say she was growing accustomed to hiding behind heaps of things with him, but she could say it was becoming something of a bad habit. She was, however, growing unfortunately quite adept at leaping over things to use them as shields. She forced herself to breathe evenly until she caught that breath, then she looked at Acair.
“The things we’re using as barriers seem to be growing increasingly fragrant,” she noted.
“I’m happy to see your sense of humor is returning.”
“I’m numb.”
“That works as well.”
She hazarded a glance between piles of rotting vegetation. “Who is that we’re hiding from?”
“Droch of Saothair,” he murmured. “Not a nice man.”
She couldn’t even nod. She wasn’t one to exaggerate or fall into needless faints, but if she had been that sort of woman, that man standing there a dozen paces from them would have inspired both. The evil simply poured off him, as if it were a foul sort of perfume. It was all she could do to breathe without screaming.
She distracted herself by trying to decide which feeling was most loudly clamoring for her attention. Revulsion was near the top of her list, but fear was there as well, but perhaps that fear was quickly morphing into terror. Acair reached for her hand and held it, hard. She nodded and clapped her other hand over her mouth. It seemed prudent.
Acair didn’t seem to need to watch the man they were hiding from. He simply bowed his head and breathed lightly—
His fingers were suddenly wrapped around her wrist. She understood why only after she realized she was halfway to her feet. She crouched back down next to him, but he didn’t release her. He looked as if he fully expected that man to leap over the rotting vegetables and half-broken crates and strangle them both. Given how unpleasant Droch seemed, she thought she might understand. She caught sight of him thanks to a hole in a pile of molding greens and studied him with as much objectivity as she could manage.
The truth was, he was very handsome in a distinguished, aloof sort of way. He reminded her a bit of some of the men who came to look at her uncle’s horses, only there was something about his aura that made him seem so far above any of those other men, she was a little surprised Fuadain sold any of his ponies to anyone else.
Droch frowned, then walked on. Acair waited a few more endless moments, then let out his breath slowly and looked at her.
“He is the master of Olc, if you’re curious.”
“I wasn’t,” she managed, “but what is Olc?”
“Magic,” he said.
“Rubbish.”
“Do you think so?” he asked. “Even now?”
She shivered. “He could just be the sort of man to beat his horses and his servants. That’s evil enough for me.”
“I imagine he does that too,” Acair said, “but along with that, he is the keeper of a very dark magic. Useful, of course, but not all that welcome in polite salons.”
She looked at him then. “And you’ve spent enough time in polite salons to know?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You continue to think of me as a country mouse.”
“I don’t know any city rats. You’re the best I can do.”
He smiled. When he smiled, she had to admit, she wanted to sit down. The truth was, she could see him in any number of very polite salons, surrounded by very polite misses who had likewise decided they could admire him more easily if they were sitting down instead of falling at his feet in an artful swoon.
“Let’s just say that that man is one you don’t want to encounter in a darkened alleyway. If you ever do meet him, feign dea
th.”
She had the feeling she wouldn’t have wanted to meet that man anywhere, which led her to thinking that she would be far better off going back to Sàraichte. Perhaps her uncle could be placated so he didn’t want to murder her any longer. In time, she might even learn not to feel pain when she walked past Falaire’s empty stall . . .
Acair straightened. “He’s gone and so should we be, and quickly.”
“I don’t like scurrying from place to place,” she said.
“I agree, actually, but things are what they are at the moment.” He pulled her up to her feet. “I need a place to think.”
“The inn?”
“We can’t go back there.”
“But our gear—”
“What we had will be gone. Remember those lads we saw in the gathering room?”
“Aye, unfortunately.”
“Droch’s spies,” Acair said shortly. “They’ll have ransacked our chamber by now, looking for anything useful to identify us.”
“Why do they care?” she asked, then she realized quite suddenly what the lay of the land was in truth. She looked at Acair. “That man, Droch. He wants you, doesn’t he?”
He shrugged. “He’s not fond of me. If he had the chance to do me an ill turn, he would take it simply out of spite, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to hunt me down. But if he can harm you in the bargain, he would do it because he’s that sort of man.”
“I don’t think I like this place,” she managed.
“Very wise,” he said. “Let’s go see about your horse, then we’ll find a place to hole up for a bit. I think I’m finished with crouching behind piles of rubbish.”
She had to agree that a bit of fresh air would be very welcome and she quite happily left that pile of rotting veg behind and walked quickly with Acair, trusting he would be able to find her horse.
The truth was, whilst she would happily look at Falaire, she had no idea what she would do about him when she saw him. The thought of him going to a man like that Master Droch was almost more than she could take.
She turned away from the thought because there was nothing she could do about it short of stealing her horse and then what would she do? She couldn’t feed herself, much less a stallion. And it wasn’t as if she could steal him, then ride him back to Sàraichte. She didn’t want to admit it, but the place was a hellhole and she had a relative there who apparently wanted her dead. She could only imagine his fury if she arrived at the barn with a horse he’d sold and she had subsequently filched. The whole situation was untenable—
She realized quite suddenly that she had run into Acair’s arm and he had jerked her behind him. She almost went stumbling into the side of a very derelict building as a result, but when she looked over his shoulder, she decided abruptly that that might have been preferable to what she was facing—or not facing—at the moment.
Master Droch stood there. He had simply materialized out of thin air, which she knew was impossible. It should have been impossible, yet there he was.
Impossible, but undeniable.
“I heard that you were in town,” Droch said in a voice that was so polite as to leave ice hanging in the air as an accompaniment. “I am surprised you haven’t yet come to pay a call on me.”
“Oh, so many things to do, my lord,” Acair said in much the same tone. “One has regrets, of course, but circumstances ofttimes override social niceties.”
Droch stepped closer. “You little whoreson,” he hissed. “If you think I’ll overlook your last visit to my private apartments, you’re as foolish as your sire.”
“I vow I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Léirsinn realized Droch had moved to where he could see her and she hadn’t been paying enough attention to avoid it.
“Ah, who is this?” Droch purred.
“No one,” Acair said briskly. “A whore. You don’t want her.”
Léirsinn would have protested, but she had the distinct feeling that the less she said, the better off she would be. She slid behind Acair, which she knew was becoming a bad habit, but he was tall and unafraid and made an extremely handy shield.
“That one is far too pretty to be a whore,” Droch said. “I wonder what she is to you?”
“Again, nothing,” Acair said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, my lord, we’ll be on our way. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your important business of making the world a better place.”
“Scamper off now, if you like,” Droch said dismissively. “I won’t lower myself to brawl in the street with someone of your ilk. But you will pay, Acair, and dearly for your cheek. And if you think I don’t have the stomach or the power to see you repaid properly, think again.”
“I wouldn’t think either, my lord,” Acair said politely. “If you’ll excuse us?”
Léirsinn found herself pulled to Acair’s right as he brushed past Droch, which left her quite happily with Acair between her and someone even she could sense was, well, evil.
She honestly didn’t care for how often she’d used that word of late.
Acair continued on at a brisk walk until they turned the first corner they came to, then he pulled her into something just short of a run. She was grateful, all things considered, that he’d kept her to his right side then pushed her in front of him, which had the benefit of keeping her out of Droch’s view. She found she couldn’t speak. She scarce managed to breathe. All she wanted to do was find somewhere to hide.
“Don’t,” he said quickly.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look back.”
“I wanted to see if he was following us.”
“He doesn’t need to follow us.”
She felt her mouth become very dry. “Why not?”
“Again, not something you want to know right now. Just keep going.”
She didn’t want to know why that was. She had no idea who Droch was in truth; she just knew that when she was within ten paces of him, she wished she could lie down and pull a building over herself.
“Think about something else.”
She looked up at Acair. “Am I saying things aloud?”
“Nay, I just know him and know that what he’ll try to do is lay a spell on you to convince you to give up and give in. Then he’ll slay you. After that, he’ll attempt the same with me.”
She would have pulled her hand away from his, but he seemed like the only solid thing she had to cling to. “How in the hell do you know that?” she asked faintly.
He glanced at her. “I already told you.”
“You’re a mage. You said that yesterday.”
“I said too much.” He steered them abruptly around yet another corner, then leaned back against the side of a building and caught his breath. “I forget from time to time just how much I loathe that man.”
She would have smiled, but she was too unnerved to. “What did he ever do to you?”
“Nothing particular comes to mind. He’s just an annoying, arrogant git who loves nothing more than to draw hapless souls into his web and terrify the bloody hell out of them. Standard fare for any decent black mage.” He paused. “It sounds fairly vile when put that way, doesn’t it?”
She had no idea how to respond to that and she supposed there was no point in arguing about mages and magic and other things that couldn’t possibly be true. If he wanted to believe in faery tales and mythical beasts invented by bards who’d had far too much strong ale, he was welcome to it. She would continue on with horses, because horses were always just what they were, never changing, never suddenly sitting back on their haunches and demanding tea with their grain.
She liked things that were predictable.
“Let’s keep going,” Acair said, taking a deep breath. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”
She considered, then frowned. She had been dragged ou
t of her home, such as it was, brought to a city she most certainly did not like, assailed by rumors of mages and magic and other things that just couldn’t possibly, shouldn’t possibly, find home in any reasonable woman’s life, and she was finished. She folded her arms over her chest.
“I’m not going anywhere else until I know what we’re doing,” she announced.
He looked at her seriously. “We’re going to steal a horse, then ride him out of this damned place.”
She blinked. “Steal?”
“If the word steal troubles you, think of it as a rescue instead. We are going to liberate your pony from where he’s no doubt currently decorating freshly laid straw with unmentionable substances. The alternative is your favorite horse going off with that man you just saw.”
He had a point there, she had to admit.
“I also need to find Soilléir of Cothromaiche and with what’s following us, I’m not going to manage that on my own two feet. We need help and I think your horse might just be the lad to provide that timely bit of aid. Let’s be off.”
She had to trot to keep up with him, but, again, it seemed better than the alternative of being left behind. She knew she should have been surprised he seemed to know where he was going, but obviously he had been in the city before. She just didn’t want to think about why.
What continued to surprise her more than it perhaps should have was how adept he was at slipping into places that should have remained closed to him. Perhaps a stable wasn’t exactly that sort of place but the stables he let them into without a key were exceptionally fine, which meant they housed extremely expensive horses.
Horses that were apparently guarded by a burly stable hand posted at the front door for obvious reasons. He leapt to his feet when Acair pulled the door open.
“Oy, what are you about—”
Léirsinn watched in astonishment as Acair plunged that poor man into unconsciousness.
“Wha—” She reached for him. “What are you doing?”
