by Lynn Kurland
He watched the Grey for another moment or two, then shook his head with a weary smile. “I’m not sure I can give you the answer that question deserves,” he said. “Perhaps there are only so many spells one can have, just as there are only so many horses one can ride. But how can you not wonder if there might be a horse in a stable down the way who might be the one pony in the world to take your breath away?”
She understood. She wasn’t sure she wanted to examine whether or not she could bring herself to believe in magic, never mind what she’d seen and ridden, but she could understand the thrill of wondering what might lie around the corner.
Acair offered her his arm. “I can see you have taken a figurative step down that very dangerous path. I’ve been walking it for years, so allow me to point out the pitfalls. The first is not taking advantage of decent meals whenever they’re offered, so off we go to supper before you plot a course to that horse haven in the East.”
She could have told him she had no intention of traveling so far, but she hadn’t intended to leave Sàraichte either. She sighed, took his arm, then walked with him out of the stables and into a beautiful, chilly twilight. She avoided that spot of shadow almost out of habit, then paused on the steps leading up to Hearn’s great hall.
“If you have so much power,” she said slowly, “why don’t you just destroy that spell you say is following you?”
He lifted his eyebrows briefly. “An excellent question.” He opened his mouth, then stopped. “I was going to pontificate, but I fear I might bore even myself.”
“Be brief, then.”
“Briefly, then,” he agreed. “The magic I fear that spell is fashioned from is of a different and, frankly, unsettling sort.”
“Worse than the spots?”
“Worse is relative,” he said. “Most magic is a bit like a suit of clothes. You put it on, you put it on others, but underneath, you are still yourself and your victims—er, I mean those favored enough to enjoy your attentions—still remain who they were. But that thing there?” He shook his head. “I haven’t had the stomach to have a look at it over tea, but given who fashioned it, I assume ’tis Cothromaichian rot. Even with as many things as I’ve seen and, I must admit, used myself, that magic gives me pause. It doesn’t simply lay a spell over something whilst leaving the essence of the thing the same, it changes that thing into something else entirely.”
She snorted before she could stop herself. “Ridiculous.”
“The next time you see a birdbath that looks suspiciously as if it might have been a mage not a fortnight earlier, ask it for its opinion on the matter.”
“And have everyone around me think me utterly daft? Never.” She glanced at the spell that seemed to be never more than ten paces away from Acair. She had no way of judging what its purpose was and she hardly wanted to dignify its existence with a bit of a look, so she ignored it and looked at Acair. “Is this Soilléir person evil?”
He pursed his lips. “Unfortunately he isn’t—and this is not a subject you want to bring up with my mother if ever you meet her. She will talk about his code of honor and what a stellar soul he is until you’ll be tempted to look for anything to stuff in your ears to have relief from the torment.” He shook his head. “Unless things have changed drastically, he would never use his spells for ill.”
“Then why would he create something to slay you?”
He considered, then looked at her seriously. “Because I deserve it.”
“For someone with your reputation, you’re terribly contrite.”
“It has been a very long few months,” he said grimly. “I’m worn down by the sheer force of all the opportunities to do evil that I’ve missed. I’m sure I’ll be right back to my old self when I’m finished with all this business of do-gooding.”
“Do you know any of Soilléir’s spells?” she asked, then she laughed a little at herself. “Spells. Can you believe I’m even using that word with any seriousness at all?”
“I might not be the right man to ask about that.”
“I suppose not. So, do you?”
“Know any of those spells?” he asked. He shook his head. “Not a damned one of them.”
“Something you would no doubt like to change.”
He looked at her. “I would give a king’s ransom for a single one.”
“Have you offered a king’s ransom for a single one?”
“Why do that when there is the challenge of trying to nick one whilst Soilléir is dozing off after supper?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “You are a very bad man.”
“As I said,” he said cheerfully. He opened the door, then made her a slight bow. “After you, mistress.”
“Bad man, good manners,” she noted.
“Easier to invade kings’ solars when you have decent manners and can make polite conversation at supper.”
She imagined it was.
• • •
A pair of hours later, she was trying and failing to find any ease in a hayloft over the Grey’s stall. Hearn had told Acair very sternly that he was welcome to join her there but he was to maintain a circumspect distance. Léirsinn had rolled her eyes. The very last thing she would ever expect from Acair of Ceangail was that he would look at her twice. Her hair, perhaps, but it seemed to unnerve him more than attract him, so she supposed she was safe enough.
That said, she found him rather more distracting than perhaps she should have. She finally sighed and turned on her side to look at him as he lay a few feet away from her. He was awake, staring up at the ceiling.
“You think too loudly,” she said.
He smiled. She winced involuntarily. Admittedly, she had heard what she had to believe was a fairly limited list of his bad deeds, but she had a hard time reconciling all that nastiness with the man there. And when he smiled . . . well, she suspected that was all he needed to gain entrance to any solar he cared to frequent.
“You’re watching me,” he said, still not looking at her.
“I’m trying to decide how best to plunge you into senselessness so I can sleep.”
His smile deepened, then he looked at her. “You are a very fierce wench.”
“I’m accustomed to managing stallions,” she said.
“Trust me, I’ve seen you at it.” He turned back to his contemplation of the ceiling. “What did you think of that grey horse down below?”
“I might be tempted to steal a spell or two for him.”
“Ah,” he said in satisfaction, “now you see how it begins. First a little spell here, then a larger spell there, then you’re beginning to look further afield to the odd, priceless treasure. Before we know it, you’ll be sneaking back into Ehrne of Ainneamh’s palace to pinch his crown and sell it to Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn for an eye-watering price.”
“Is that how it begins?” she asked.
“Either that or one starts out to impress one’s father, realizes there is no hope, then one continues on because one is an ignorant ass.”
She smiled. “Is that how it is?”
He sighed deeply. “Today, I don’t know.” He looked at her. “I think there might be an abundance of anger in me.”
“You need a horse.”
“The last thing I need is a horse.”
“They’re good for a man’s soul.”
“But very bad for his arse, which is where on me most of them seem to think their next meal is located.”
She turned toward him and propped herself up on her elbow. “What do you think those shadows are?”
“Something very bad,” he said seriously, “and I would know.”
“Who do you think could have put them there?”
“The list is long,” he said, “and not one I particularly care to make, though I suppose I should. I don’t know that doing so would serve either of us given that I couldn
’t do a damned thing about it even if I knew who was behind that mischief.”
“Which is why we’re off to see Soilléir?”
“I,” he corrected. “I am off to see Soilléir.” He looked at her then. “In all seriousness, Léirsinn, I think you should stay here.”
“And you think I’m going to argue?”
He looked at her in surprise, then scowled. “I am only surprised that you can spew out those words with any conviction at all. Surely you’re planning on coming. The fairness of my face and the truly appalling nature of my reputation are simply too much to resist.”
“Show pony.”
“Red-haired harridan.”
“Careful,” she warned. “Too much more flattery such as that and I will become as insufferable as you are.”
“I’m not sure you could,” he said seriously, “and your hair is beautiful. As are you. Now, go to sleep so I can think. You’re distracting me with all this feminine chatter. And I will leave you behind, just so you know.”
“Nay, you won’t.”
He blew out his breath and turned back to his study of the roof, but he said nothing.
She watched him watch the ceiling for a bit longer, trying to ignore the appalling fairness of his face and the inescapable realization that he was who he apparently was.
“Acair?”
“Aye, Léirsinn.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Me?” he scoffed. “Never.”
“Never?”
He looked at her. “Do you think I would admit it if I were?”
She shook her head. He held out his hand and she put hers in it before she could think better of it.
“Go to sleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll have a bit of a think, then leave you to your peaceful dreams. And don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Harsh language?”
“Very harsh language and the dagger stuck down my boot.”
She supposed others had done more with less. She nodded, then closed her eyes. She didn’t want to believe what she had seen and done over the past several days, but it was impossible to deny what it meant.
Magic existed.
She felt as if she were being torn in two. She felt Acair’s fingers laced with hers, his hand warm and quite ordinary save for the calluses he had no doubt earned by shoveling so much manure over the past fortnight. Yet if she were to believe what she’d heard, that hand was also capable of wielding mythical, unseen forces to do his bidding whenever he chose, and apparently he had done quite a bit of that sort of choosing over the course of his impossibly long life. She had ridden a horse with gossamer wings that day, a horse who had been nothing more than a horse when his grain had been brought and he’d plunged his soft nose into the bucket to inhale it in typical horse fashion.
Spots of shadow, flying horses, and a man who had seen things that she could see lurking in the back of his eyes. It was so thoroughly not what she’d expected to find filling her life. She wasn’t sure she would trade what she had at the moment, though, for what she’d left behind, and that was perhaps the most alarming thing of all.
Sleep was long in coming.
Eighteen
Acair stood inside the gates of Aherin at a far earlier hour than that which he usually preferred to count as the start of his day, looked at the lord of the keep, and wondered if how he could politely point out that they were, as shouldn’t have surprised him at all, back where they’d started.
“My lord,” Acair ventured, “about a horse—”
Hearn shot him an impatient look. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“It isn’t in my nature,” Acair said. “’Tis what makes me a good mage.”
“You are a bad mage, which you know very well.” Hearn folded his arms over his chest. “How is it you can possibly think I would give you a horse?”
“Because I’m asking to buy a horse,” Acair corrected. “Well, not with any gold that I have with me at present, but if you’ll name your price, when I’m at my leisure to see to it—”
“In another year.”
“Aye, in a year,” he said, trying not to growl as he said it. “In a year, I will happily pay any price you ask.”
“And what if my price is yet another year of your not using magic?” Hearn asked politely.
Acair was beginning to think he had been the topic of conversation at a dinner party with several souls he might or might not have given trouble to in the past. It had likely taken several bottles of wine for them to have come up with any useful thoughts, but he suspected his current straits were the result of all that inebriation. He looked at Hearn evenly.
“Any price but that one.”
Hearn looked at him with that horse-sight that was past unnerving, then grunted. “I’ll give it some thought. Let’s discuss first what I’ve heard from both of you about Mistress Léirsinn’s horse. He sees these things we don’t particularly want to discuss, then he destroys them?”
Acair nodded, then heard himself describe in a fair amount of detail what had happened when Falaire had encountered one of those spots of shadow. He leaned back against a handy railing when Hearn and Léirsinn called for the horse to be brought to them, then fussed over him for so long that Acair found himself wondering why the hell Hearn never had any sorts of benches placed anywhere where a man might find them convenient.
“I’ll walk him to the gates,” Léirsinn said, startling Acair out of his stupor.
“Let one of the lads do that,” Hearn suggested. “One of you at least needs to be awake to hear this.”
Acair hid a yawn behind his hand and forced himself to concentrate on the lord of the hall. Hearn shot him a disgruntled look, which Acair shrugged off. Too much shoveling, not enough sleeping. ’Twas a potent combination.
“Any ideas where that pony came from?” Hearn asked seriously.
Léirsinn frowned. “He was brought to the barn as a yearling, but I didn’t investigate his lineage. Why?”
“Because I am fairly certain he’s from Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn’s stables,” Hearn said. “There’s a thread of elven magic running through his veins that is unmistakable. And that name? Too close to what they call their magic for coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Acair said through another yawn.
“Neither do I.” Hearn looked at Léirsinn. “I’m not sure it means anything, but it makes me wonder if his name is a message of sorts. I’ve now seen how fond he is of those shadows, but I don’t think they’re doing him any harm.” He shrugged. “He might be of use to you if you could convince him to stay in his own shape long enough to tell you when he sees them.”
“Is he strong enough to carry us both,” Acair asked gingerly, “or do you think his encounters have weakened him?”
Hearn gave vent to a gusty sigh. “He can easily carry our gel here, but you and your enormous ego might just be too heavy for him. I suppose I’ll have to send you off on something else.”
“A horse for me?” he asked as casually as possible, trying not to sound anything like the ten-year-old lad he felt at present.
Hearn ignored him and motioned to one of his lads. “Go fetch that monster we discussed earlier.”
Acair felt Léirsinn elbow him. “I think this will be interesting,” she said with the enthusiasm of someone who had actually slept the night before.
Something to remind himself of periodically: never sleep next to a woman who bothered you whilst you were awake. He was a shameless rogue and a terrible womanizer so holding her hand for most of the night shouldn’t have troubled him at all. That it had left him pacing in front of that grey demon’s stall before the sun was up should have told him something. That he was a fool, perhaps, or that he needed to get hold of himself, no doubt.
He smiled weakly at Léirsinn, then fought not to show
any reaction to what was brought to stand in front of Hearn. He supposed it was a horse, but he honestly wasn’t sure. It bared its teeth at him, then tried to reach past its handler to bite him.
“Perfect,” Hearn said, sounding perfectly pleased.
“He’s spirited,” Léirsinn said enthusiastically.
“He’s a devil,” Acair wheezed. “And he’s already tried to bite me!”
They weren’t listening to him, those two horse people who seemed to find nothing at all untoward about a horse that snarled at him every time it looked his way. He supposed he should have been extremely grateful that Hearn was deigning to sell him anything at all, but ’twas difficult to thank a man for giving him something that Hell had obviously just recently vomited up on his front stoop.
“What’s he called?” Léirsinn asked.
“Sianach, through several lines that I didn’t investigate very far. He was sent to me by someone I won’t name, and he is a particularly difficult case.”
“Seems like a match to me,” Léirsinn said. “They might be good for each other.”
Hearn laughed. “I thought so too.”
“I can’t ride that monster,” Acair said. “He’ll kill me!”
“Or just do great amounts of damage to you,” Hearn said. “If that happens, I suppose Mistress Léirsinn will just have to tie you to her saddle and drag you along wherever she goes.”
“I don’t like this,” Acair said faintly.
“I would imagine many of your victims have said the same thing over the years.”
“I made certain to render them mute before I did anything to them,” Acair said without thinking.
“You might want to keep that sort of thing to yourself,” Hearn suggested, “before you give that horse any ideas.” He shrugged. “Take him or leave him behind. It’s all the same to me.”
Acair looked at the stallion, who looked as if his fondest wish was to kick the life out of him, then looked at Léirsinn. “What do you think?” he asked. “And pray let it be along the lines of, this beast is not ridable.”
