A Tapestry of Spells

by Lynn Kurland

  “Um—”

  “My best draft horse fell lame yesterday,” the farmer said promptly. “Rock in his hoof and now he won’t put weight on it. Don’t suppose you’d want to fix that, would you?”

  Ruith was impressed by her ability to master the panic he could see flash in her eyes.

  “My powers are unpredictable so far from home,” she said quickly, “so I wouldn’t dare promise anything. In case it went awry, of course. But if I could just have a wee look inside your trunk just the same?”

  The farmer frowned. “Then I don’t know, missy.”

  Ruith held up two pieces of gold behind Sarah’s back, which the farmer immediately saw.

  “Look away,” the man said, taking and pocketing the gold with alacrity. “The trunk isn’t mine, actually. My brother bought it from another lad clearing out and moving south. Makes a handy seat for a bit of ale in the afternoons, but I’ve never looked through the gear inside. Mind if I watch?”

  “Of course not,” Ruith said, though he imagined Sarah did. He watched her hands shake as she opened the lid. He caught that lid before it fell back down on her fingers, then made a great production of moving things about to give her time to catch her breath.

  “Where?” he murmured.

  “On the left,” she managed. “In that rolled leather cover.”

  He pulled aside layers of rags and cracked leather halters and reins to reveal just what she’d said would be there. He took out the rolled-up sheaves, then untied the leather strands that held them together. And there in his hand he held the unthinkable.

  A scorched but imminently legible copy of his father’s spell of Shapechanging.

  “Roll it up,” Sarah said harshly. “Before it burns my eyes to cinders.”

  He did so, startled. He turned to the farmer and made him a low bow. “Many thanks, good sir. This is precious to my lady here. I’m sorry we can’t do anything for your horse.”

  “Horses,” the farmer corrected. “I’ve a mare just foaled who isn’t doing well. Even if your lady could just try, I’d be much obliged.”

  Sarah looked as if she would have been much obliged to have shaken the farmer’s hand and bolted, but she seemingly suppressed the impulse. Ruith considered, but not overlong. He took a deep breath, then silently uncapped his magic. He was more prepared than he had been the last time, but still he stumbled as it rushed back through him. He caught himself heavily against a stall, then felt Sarah’s arm go round his waist immediately.

  “Are you unwell?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, just hungry. I don’t think I want to stay for pleasantries.”

  “I certainly don’t,” she muttered under her breath. “I don’t think I can heal his animals.”

  “They don’t look like they need it,” Ruith said. “We’ll give them a pat and be on our way.”

  “You did pay him, I suppose.”

  He would have agreed with her on that, but he was too busy trying not to be crushed by what he’d managed so easily at the age of ten. Obviously, he’d become soft in his dotage.

  He had also obviously lost any finesse he’d once possessed. He healed those two horses on his way out of the barn, thoroughly and hastily. He supposed the beasts were grateful, but not overly. The mare snorted at him in disgust and the draft horse tried to bite him.

  Nothing more than he deserved, no doubt.

  He gathered up every last drop of what he had and shoved it back down into the center of himself before he could think about it, or spare the effort to realize how quickly he’d become accustomed to even that small, unruly bit of his birthright leaping and tripping through his veins.

  “You look terrible.”

  Ruith put his arm around her shoulders because he had to. “I feel terrible.”

  He listened to her thank the farmer again for the look in his trunk and apologize for healing spells seemingly unexecuted. Ruith could only concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other until they reached their own horses. He managed to get himself into his saddle without causing his mount undue discomfort, then held down his hand for Sarah. She looked up at him in surprise.

  “What?”

  “Ride with me,” he said hoarsely. “I need aid.”

  She put her foot on his, then swung up behind him and put her arms around his waist. “I think you need less aid than you do coddling. Or is it all just a nefarious plot to grope me whilst I’m otherwise engaged in the all-consuming task of keeping you from falling off your horse?”

  “Grope you,” he gasped. “You, lady, have an overly healthy opinion of your charms.”

  She laughed a little, then took his reins from him, clicked to her horse, and steered his horse in the right direction.

  “I’m taking your mind off the fact that you look as if you’re nigh onto sicking up your lunch onto that poor farmer’s back porch.”

  He couldn’t speak, for he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t still delight her with that spectacle. He concentrated on breathing until they had left the farmer’s house far behind. The road was well lit thanks to the moon, but even with that light he couldn’t see the company ahead. He supposed that was a boon, lest they see him before he had recovered enough to avoid questions about what had befallen him. He held himself upright with his right hand on his thigh and allowed himself the pleasure of holding Sarah’s hand wrapped around his waist. When he thought he could manage it, he sat upright without aid and reached back to put his arm around her.

  “Woman, if the happy day comes when I’m at my leisure to give you a proper mauling,” he managed, “rest assured it won’t be because I need to be distracted from puking.”

  “You great barbarian.”

  He smiled because he could hear the smile in her voice. He patted her briefly, then went back to holding himself upright simply because he suspected he might indeed fall off his horse if he didn’t. He was more grateful than he would ever have admitted that Sarah was strong enough to keep him in the saddle. He wouldn’t have thought burying his magic would have taken such a toll on him, so perhaps that work on the horses had been more demanding than he’d suspected.

  He didn’t particularly care to think about what that augured if he had to do any serious magic in the near future.

  Time passed and so did his weakness. By the time they reached their company, camped well off to the side of the road, he almost felt himself.

  Or he would have if he’d had nothing more pressing to think about than supper and what to read by the fire afterward. Unfortunately, supper didn’t sound appetizing, and he knew exactly what he would be reading because it was burning a hole in his leg where he’d shoved it down his boot.

  He swung his leg over his horse’s withers, then jumped down and felt rather fortunate that he managed to stay on his feet. Then he turned and held on to the saddle for a moment until his legs were steady beneath him. He put his hand on Sarah’s knee and looked up at her.

  “Thank you.”

  She covered his hand with her own. “My pleasure.”

  He hesitated, then smiled. “You don’t have an overinflated opinion of your charms, you know. I really was trying to keep from puking into that poor man’s rhododendrons.”

  “I imagined you were.”

  “You’re very lovely.”

  “And you’re daft,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Move over so I can get off your horse and tend it and mine. You should find a seat by the fire.”

  He might have been not quite himself, but he was still as much of a gentleman as he could manage. He tended his own horse, saw Sarah fed, admired her whilst she ate and he did not, then insisted she roll up in a blanket by the fire and sleep. Once she was safely dreaming, he took himself off to sit on the back of Master Franciscus’s wagon and have a much-needed cup of ale.

  “Find what you were looking for?”

  Ruith looked at Franciscus over the rim of his cup. “And more, I fear.”

  “I can only imagine.” Franciscus patted the haft of
his dagger meaningfully. “You be careful with her, you young rogue. I feel a certain proprietariness where she’s concerned.”

  Ruith smiled faintly, then watched Franciscus draw one of a handful of daggers he seemed inordinately fond of and begin to slide a sharpening stone down its already quite wicked-looking length. He watched, waited for the ale to work its magic, then waited a bit more until he could manage the question he likely shouldn’t have asked.

  “Was it terrible?”

  Franciscus looked up. “Her life?”

  Ruith nodded.

  Franciscus considered his knife for quite some time before he answered. “Seleg was an unpredictable and unforgiving woman. Sarah craves, I believe, peace and beauty above all. There’s a reason for it, I daresay.”

  “That must be why she weaves.”

  “That, and she’s likely just fond of pretty colors.”

  Ruith pursed his lips. “She obviously spent too much time with you in your alehouse. You influenced her in an unwholesome way.”

  Franciscus smiled. “She is lovely, isn’t she? Lovely and tenacious and unafraid.”

  “Throwing herself headlong into things and wondering how she’ll master them after the fact,” Ruith said with a deep sigh. “Aye, she is.” He looked at Franciscus. “I’m going on a little errand.”

  “Where to?”

  “North.”

  “There’s a lot of that to choose from,” Franciscus said easily. “Care to be more specific?”

  “I think I know where Daniel’s going and I’m going to follow him. Alone.”

  “Sarah won’t like it.”

  “She can swear at me when I return.”

  “She will,” Franciscus said tranquilly. “What will you have us do? Shall we continue on to Slighe?”

  “If you would,” Ruith said. He set his cup aside and looked at one of the very few friends he’d had over the past twenty years.

  “Tell her something cheerful, will you? Some tale of beauty to counter all that bilge Connail spewed at her.”

  “He seems inordinately fond of Prince Gair, doesn’t he?”

  Prince Gair. Ruith hadn’t thought of his father as that, well, perhaps ever. He was technically a prince of Ainneamh through Sgath, though fortunately so far from that throne that the title had been meaningless.

  “Or seemed, rather,” Franciscus said. He considered his dagger a bit longer. “I wonder what happened to him.”

  “I imagine Urchaid killed him.”

  Franciscus looked up at him. “Why?”

  “He talked too much.”

  “Why would Urchaid care what Connail said?”

  “That is a riddle I can’t begin to answer,” Ruith said wearily. “I’m not even sure I would want the answer if I knew where to look for it.”

  “You have enough to think on,” Franciscus said seriously. “Leave the riddles to me. And aye, I will tell Sarah something pleasant. Perhaps favorable tales of the princes of Neroche. There are several of them, I believe, and all quite eligible. I’m sure she would enjoy those thoroughly.”

  Ruith pursed his lips and stood up. “And here I was fooled by how amiable you look on the outside.”

  “ ’Tis a façade, my boy,” Franciscus said, stretching his hands over his head and yawning, “to hide my black heart. Go sleep, and I’ll keep watch. If you’re going to go, though, you should go before she wakes.”

  “I agree.”

  “Whatever she takes out of my hide, I’ll take out of yours, so don’t thank me yet.”

  Ruith smiled, then went to lie down near the fire. He was exhausted enough that sleep should have come easily.

  Instead, all he could do was see in his mind’s eye the barn, the lamplight, the look on Sarah’s face as she’d forced herself to look for things only she could see. He wasn’t sure where she’d come by that seeing, but he knew he didn’t envy her. And he didn’t envy himself what he knew he would be seeing in a pair of days.

  In the end, all he knew was that he was going to keep her from having to see the same thing if it meant strapping her to the fullest keg of ale in Franciscus’s wagon.

  Nineteen

  Sarah stood in the faint light of dawn and wondered if the man facing her was going to draw his sword soon and use it on her, or if he would simply fasten her to her horse and let it drag her behind itself off to points unknown.

  Ruith looked capable of either.

  She’d known the night before that he was planning another bout of desertion. He should have spent more time practicing his looks of innocence in the mirror, for he was particularly incapable of taking the broadside of a pointed question and not sailing away quite low in the water, as it were.

  She frowned thoughtfully. It was entirely possible that Franciscus had told her too many tales of the sailors of Aigeann and their fantastical ships. For someone who had grown to womanhood in the driest, most unmagical place possible, she had an appallingly large store of nautical tales running about in her head.

  The force of Ruith’s glare pulled her back to herself. She returned his look coolly and listed silently his offenses, to stiffen her spine, beginning and ending with the fact that he’d snuck away before dawn and ridden like a demon. She’d anticipated the like and had followed him within minutes. That following had been made all the easier by the page of Gair of Ceangail’s book he still had stuffed down his boot. It was like a beacon, faint but undeniable, calling to her from leagues away. She was fortunate she’d been able to see it shimmering in the predawn countryside. It also helped that her horse was as fast as Ruith’s but she was lighter. That, over the course of several leagues, was what had made the difference.

  She looked at the man now standing in front of her, bristling with not only full-blown, manly indignation but an impressive clutch of weapons as well, and decided that perhaps they had talked enough about their future plans. Actually, there hadn’t been much talking. There had been shouting, a few threats, and quite a bit of cursing.

  And that had been just her side of it.

  Ruith was, she was surprised to find, coldly furious. She couldn’t fathom why. It was, after all, her quest. If she couldn’t be involved, what was the point in it?

  Well, apart from the obvious goal of keeping her brother from plunging the Nine Kingdoms into utter entire ruin.

  She folded her arms over her chest and looked at him. “I’m baffled,” she said, feeling quite thoroughly that and nothing else. “This is my quest—”

  “Not this part of it,” he said curtly.

  She wanted to tell him he was being completely unreasonable, but she didn’t think that would get her very far. She took a purposely deep breath and spoke very slowly. “Well, since this part has to do with looking for Daniel, doesn’t that apply to me as well?”

  He glared at her. “I’m finished with this conversation.”

  “So am I. Let’s ride.”

  He ground his teeth. She knew that because she heard him do it. He looked at her for a moment in silence, swore quite vilely, then turned and walked away. He forgot his horse, which she supposed would irritate him further. He finally stopped, dragged his hands through his hair, then turned and strode back to stop just a hands-breadth from her.

  “Please go back,” he said simply.

  She hadn’t seen that coming. He looked sincerely worried, though she couldn’t imagine why. She reached out and put her hand on his arms crossed over his chest. He was not relaxed, for his forearms were like granite under the sleeve of his tunic.

  “And if I can see things you cannot?” she asked, quite reasonably to her mind.

  He pursed his lips, but said nothing.

  She didn’t back away. If there was anything she had learned in all her years with horses and mages, it was to never show weakness no matter the threat. She didn’t bother to even attempt a smile, though. It was all she could do to stare up into his remarkably lovely eyes—bluish green, she decided—and not go a little weak in the knees. But that wouldn’t serve
her at present, so she forbore.

  “I have been of little help so far,” she said honestly, “and caused you a great deal of trouble. If in this small thing I can be of use, how can you deny me the chance to repay you for your efforts on my behalf?”

  “I think I’d prefer years of you cooking me dessert,” he muttered. “Or not cooking it, which is likely safer.”

  She almost smiled. “Aye, you have that aright.” The thought of repaying him thus was indeed appealing until she realized abruptly the truth of it. She would likely find herself cooking for him as he fell in love with someone else, wed her, gave her children—

  “Sarah.”

  She was surprised at how much that bothered her. She frowned up at him, then realized she couldn’t see him very well for the tears that had sprung suddenly and without warning to her eyes. She cursed, but that did nothing to rescue her from her folly.

  She never wept, and she certainly wasn’t weeping now. She was overcome by enthusiasm for the task ahead and that had overcome her weak, womanly form. Either that, or she had looked at Ruith’s spectacular face once too often and was losing every shred of good sense she’d ever had. She supposed she was grateful to find herself suddenly gathered into strong, secure arms and held against a sturdy chest. Safety wasn’t at all overrated and she had enjoyed far too little of it over the course of her life. Just a moment or two more of it wasn’t going to turn her soft, surely.

  “I am walking into darkness,” he said quietly, so quietly he was almost inaudible. “I don’t want you to be there with me.”

  She put her arms around him and held on, because she had to keep herself from turning and bolting the other way. She had no desire at all to walk into darkness with or without him, but she’d known from the start that she was setting her foot to a path she wouldn’t enjoy.

  “I can see those pages,” she said. “Even in the daylight. If what you’re hunting has to do with them—and I know it does so don’t bother protesting—then why wouldn’t you want me along?”

  He swore succinctly. “Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

  “I didn’t like the ending of it.”