Dreamer's Daughter (10 page)

“Are we free?”

The tone of her voice startled him. He slung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his left side. He could fight with either hand because his swordmasters in his youth had been without peer, but he preferred the right, which was handy given that he wasn't about to put Aisling closest to the street where she could be snatched away before he could do anything to stop it.

“We're close to free,” he lied.

“They're behind us, aren't they?”

He took a deep breath. “I'm afraid so.”

She panicked. He'd never heard anyone utterly lose their ability to breathe before and honestly had no idea what to do. He looked for sanctuary but there was nothing on their side of the street save abandoned buildings crawling with spells that made him queasy. He looked across the street, spied an open door, then hurried with Aisling through mud and horse droppings to present himself at what looked to be the only inhabited building on the street.

He realized, once they had stumbled inside, that it was a house of ill repute. He would have laughed at the ridiculousness of where he currently found himself, but he was too damned unnerved to. He brushed aside the feathers he was assaulted by as the proprietress swirled a very fine, feather-encrusted cape around her less-than-clothed self. Obviously his best company manners were going to be called for.

“Good afternoon,” he said, suppressing the urge to sneeze.

“A visitor,” she said, looking terribly pleased. “And his young companion.”

“Who are looking for a back door,” Rùnach said. He held up two gold coins. “And discretion.”

“Discretion's me middle name, pet,” the woman said, relieving him of his money without delay. “Unless they're Guild guards hunting you, then all bets are off.”

“Just the back door will do,” Rùnach said. “And directions to somewhere else.”

The woman lifted Aisling's hood back from her face, studied her very briefly, then shook her head. “It'll take more than a request prettily spoken, me lad. We have a runner here.”

“How could you possibly assume that?” Rùnach asked in surprise.

She looked at him shrewdly. “I live across from the bloody place, don't I? Don't have many runners these days. Herself rules with an iron fist, don't she?”

“This is merely my servant—”

“Bollocks,” the befeathered woman said briskly. “The whole damned town's been looking for this one for weeks now. Guildmistress wants her bad, I'd say—oh, nay, missy, don't you dare faint.”

Rùnach continued to hold Aisling up. “What do you want?” he asked the madame grimly. “More gold? My sword? My firstborn?”

She laughed, a robust sound full of good humor. “Wouldn't dare take the last from the likes of you, but your packs seem a bit heavy. Let's start there.”

“I don't think I have time to divide the spoils with you.”

“Whatever you can pull out in haste, then. 'Tisn't often I have an elven princeling in my front parlor along with a gel the whole of Beul is looking for.”

Rùnach made sure Aisling was able to stand unaided before he quickly rummaged through his pack for the most valuable and least enspelled items he owned. He shoved a pair of socks and a fresh tunic back inside, then handed over the rest of his gear. He put his hand out, though, when the proprietress reached for the satchel Aisling wore slung across her chest.

“Not that.”

The madame frowned. “What do you have in your pack then, dearie?”

“Just clothes and wool,” Aisling whispered.

The woman sighed heavily and looked at Rùnach. “I suppose I'll make do with your things.”

Rùnach watched her dump his offerings along with another infusion of his gold into a trunk that was promptly pulled behind a false wall. She nodded toward the back of her house.

“This way, and hurry.”

Rùnach put his arm around Aisling and followed the proprietress through the kitchens and into a rather less-than-tidy back garden.

“Through that gate, bolt to your left down the alleyway, then duck through the garden at the end of the street. I'll send a lad to show you. Free of charge, that last bit.”

Rùnach had no choice but to trust her. He thanked her for her care, then took Aisling's hand and did as instructed. Unfortunately, it was far too soon that he heard crashing and shouting going on in the house they had just left. He could only hope that that was nothing a woman with the cheek to operate a brothel down the street from the Guild wouldn't be unaccustomed to.

“Through here.”

Rùnach looked at a lad standing suddenly before them, panting with a sort of nonchalance that said he'd done this sort of thing before—and more than once. Rùnach tipped the lad a sovereign because his mother had taught him good manners, then followed the directions and hoped he wasn't running them into a clutch of guardsmen.

They emerged onto what had to have been Beul's main street. Rùnach took the first carriage he found and gave the driver the name of their lodging. The carriage had uncommonly large windows, which he didn't particularly care for, but there was nothing to be done about that. He kept his head down, kept his arm around Aisling, and turned over his mind what he'd heard.

They'd searched for Aisling?

Soilléir couldn't have known or he would have said something. Rùnach supposed they were fortunate to have gotten as far as they had. Perhaps the Guildmistress had recognized Aisling from the start but had decided there was no practical purpose in holding her hostage there when there was more gold to be had from him. Either that, or the woman had simply sent guardsmen after them as a matter of course.

The driver suddenly slid open a small window. “Sir,” he said politely, “I see a pair of n'ere-do-wells behind us.”

“N'ere-do-wells?” Rùnach asked, wincing.

“Thugs,” the driver said distinctly. “They roam the streets, to be sure, but these are a bit tougher than the usual breed. Perhaps the fineness of your cloak has attracted their attention.”

“No doubt. Still the inn, if you can manage it. A sovereign for your trouble.”

“The strike?”

“Name the kingdom,” Rùnach said dryly. “I have a selection.”

“Neroche.”

“Done.”

The driver continued on for a bit, then spoke again. “I can drop you outside the city, if you'd prefer. For two pieces of gold I can lose those lads behind us.”

“Discreetly?”

“That'll cost you three.”

Rùnach supposed he didn't need the clothes he'd left at the inn. He looked at Aisling. “Opinions?”

She took a shaky breath. “I'm too terrified to have any.”

“Well, my plan had been to duck out through the inn's kitchens and roll liberally in the compost pile before blending in with the seedier elements, which doesn't sound all that appealing the more I think about it.”

“Then three coins sounds like a bargain.”

He agreed, then soon found himself rather grateful he hadn't had lunch yet.

An hour and a torturous route through the most impossibly small closes that surely hadn't been meant for anything but foot traffic, he happily jumped from the carriage, following Aisling to solid ground. He looked up at the carriage driver and was faintly relieved to see he didn't recognize him.

“Thank you, friend.”

The man inclined his head. “My pleasure, Your Highness.”

Rùnach sighed. “You have me at a disadvantage. I apologize, but I don't recognize you.”

“I'm Ochadius's son,” the young man said with a smile, “Peter.”

“Of course you are,” Rùnach said, then he looked up at Peter in surprise. “You accepted my gold.”

“As I said, I am my father's son,” Peter said with a smile, then he sobered. “I wish I could render more aid, but I fear you're on your own from here. I'll return to Beul and see if I can't at least throw them off the scent.”

“The Guild guards?” Aisling wheezed.

“Them too.”

Rùnach nodded, then moved out of the way with Aisling and watched Peter wheel his carriage around and head back the way they'd come. The noise faded eventually, leaving him standing with a runaway weaver in the middle of a road that seemed to be at least marginally well traveled. He looked up at the darkening sky, then at Aisling.

“Well.”

She handed him a map. “We might need this.”

“Where did you find this?” he asked in surprise.

“That little boy who gave us directions handed it to me before we started running.”

“I didn't notice that.”

“You were too busy swearing.”

Rùnach smiled, then tucked the map into a pocket of his cloak, then pulled off his pack and took out a finely carved wooden statue of a horse. The statue hopped a reasonable distance away, then suddenly became a full-sized horse. Iteach stretched his neck, then turned around and walked over to look at Aisling. She laughed a little as he snuffled her.

“He's making sure you're well,” Rùnach said.

“Nay, he's telling me there's something in my pack he wants,” she said. “I think I'm happy I didn't turn this over to that woman.”

“I almost hate to ask what he wants,” Rùnach said. “Carrots?”

“Astar said he had a gift for me,” she said, looking at him and blinking innocently. “Was I wrong not to refuse it?”

Rùnach pursed his lips. “As long as it isn't a betrothal ring, I suppose I don't have anything to say about it, do I?” He helped her out of her pack, then set it on the ground for her. “Rummage, woman, and let's see what he gifted you.”

Aisling opened the pack, then froze. She considered for a moment or two before she reached inside and pulled out another statue of a horse. She held it up and studied it.

“Spectacular,” she murmured.

Rùnach had to agree. He watched her set the statue on the ground, then moved out of the way with her. The statue, unsurprisingly, became something quite a bit larger. The resulting horse, an absolutely stupendous blond chestnut filly, looked at Aisling and bowed her head all the way to the ground.

“Well,” he said, nonplussed.

“She's glorious,” Aisling said, reaching out to stroke the filly's neck.

“Fit for a queen,” Rùnach agreed.

Aisling looked at him quickly. “Not that.”

“Then worthy of a dreamspinner,” he said quietly, reaching for her hand. “I believe, my love, that your filly there is a gift from the king of Cothromaiche, though I'm sure Astar will take credit for her every time he can. I'm guessing that's Seannair's way of saying he'd like to be invited to your wedding since he was out hunting during your visit.”

“A generous gift,” Aisling said weakly.

“Very,” Rùnach said. “She looks as if she's made of gold.”

“Rùnach, look at Iteach.”

Rùnach did and laughed a little. Iteach was, well, the only word for it he could find was
gaping
at the new addition to their company as if he had never seen another horse before. “My horse without a single thing to say. A miracle has occurred.”

“I'm sure he'll get over that soon enough.” She pulled her cloak more closely around her. “What now? Do we fly or simply ride like demons?”

“How easily you've become accustomed to having magic at your disposal.”

“Not easily,” she said with a sigh, “but easily enough, I suppose. Terror is a very useful means of persuasion.”

“I think we should ride, only because we'll attract less attention that way. The horses will tell us if something untoward comes nearby.”

She nodded. Rùnach settled their gear, shook his head over Seannair's generosity facilitated no doubt by Soilléir's suggestion, and steeled himself for a long night in the saddle. He supposed their lingerings in Beul could have been more productive, but perhaps not. They knew where to go, collected a bit of information that would serve them, and had gotten out alive. They were one step closer to what they needed to know.

Perhaps that was all they could hope for at the moment.

A
isling stood in the stables and shivered. Her hair was wet from her recent bath, true, and there was frost on the ground just outside the doors, also true, but she didn't think that was what was chilling her to the bone. It had everything to do with what had been a profoundly uncomfortable pair of days. Unfortunately, she had no reason to believe things were going to improve anytime soon.

She watched Rùnach ready the horses until there was nothing left to do but ride off into the gloom. Only she didn't feel at all like a Nerochian lad off to do mighty deeds. She felt like a very insignificant weaver off to attempt impossible things that she wouldn't manage.

“Ready?” Rùnach asked.

“Of course,” she said, wishing she'd sounded a bit more confident. As it was, she thought she sounded exactly what she was: terrified.

Rùnach put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “They can't hurt you, Aisling.”

“They can send me back to the Guild.”

“Your birthday was two days ago,” he said confidently. “In fact, I was so sure of it, I celebrated it by treating you to a hasty exit through enemy-infested streets, then a subsequently quite miserable journey on the back of a very lovely and no doubt very rare horse my horse is gobsmacked by.” He pulled back and smiled at her. “Name another lad who could do better.”

She couldn't help but smile a little. “It was an interesting escape, true.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I'll build you a house this summer and provide you a better day to celebrate next year. The point being, however, that 'tis too late for your—well, I don't think we should call them parents, should we?”

“I don't know who they are.”

“Let's go find out. And we'll make it clear it's too late for them to do anything but apologize.”

She wanted to do that almost as much as she wanted to return to the weaver's guild in Beul and turn herself over to them for another seven years, but she knew through Malcte was where her path lay.

The journey took only half the day, which was actually not nearly long enough to her mind. The countryside wasn't lovely. In fact, it bore almost no resemblance to what she'd seen depicted in Queen Brèagha's paintings. It was as if a terrible wind had come through and breathed death on everything. The pines still had their needles, barely, but there was no hint of rebirth in anything deciduous. The road was terrible, causing even Iteach to turn his head and give Rùnach a narrow look. She didn't dare ask either horse what form they would prefer to take.

It was actually a little surprising that the horses seemed to have magic that worked perfectly well inside Bruadair when anyone else's seemed less than reliable. She considered that for a bit, then finally put it aside as something to think about later. For all she knew, their horses were not bound by the same rules she and Rùnach were.

She suppressed the urge to snort. Even thinking she might possess something as lofty as magic . . . well, it was ridiculous.

Though she couldn't deny that something had happened to her when she'd used Soilléir's spell of essence hiding on herself, never mind that it hadn't worked as it was supposed to. She wasn't ready to believe she had any magic, truly, but she couldn't deny that there was something that now lingered inside her, just beyond where she could sense it. Something that felt like a beautiful dream that wasn't forgotten upon waking, but as unreachable as if it had been.

Something that felt a good deal like magic, truth be told.

She woke suddenly from her thoughts and realized she was not on a road that wound through rather ugly countryside but on the outskirts of a village that was not pretty in an entirely new and unpleasant way.

Rùnach had reined in Iteach next to her. Her horse, the lovely and indeed quite golden Orail, seemed to agree that the sight before them deserved cessation of motion to truly appreciate. Aisling swallowed with difficulty.

“Well,” she said. “Perhaps Beul was a step up.”

Rùnach looked at her, then laughed a little. “I'm afraid I would have to agree.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I'm sorry to bring you here.”

“Why?” he asked in surprise.

“Because of who you are and where you were raised. Part of the time, at least.”

“Aisling, trust me, I have seen things . . .” He shook his head. “I'm only sorry that this is what you were subjected to. Again, I'll build you a house on the edge of the sea. I'll wheedle saplings and seeds out of both sets of grandparents. Perhaps even a gardener, if such an adventurous soul can be found.”

She took a deep breath. “Thank you, Rùnach.”

“You're welcome, love.” He nodded toward what appeared to pass for civilization in the current bit of ugly countryside. “Shall we?”

“I'm terrified.”

“I think you should be enjoying this,” he said. “Returning triumphant to a former battlefield.”

“I would feel better if I had a sword,” she said grimly. “Or magic.”

“Well, I have the former,” he said with a shrug, “and we both have the latter if things go completely awry. But perhaps we should limit ourselves to stern words. I imagine we have enough of those to serve us at present.”

“I'm not sure I'll be able to get any out.”

“I think you might surprise yourself,” he said with a faint smile. “I'll get you started if you hesitate.”

She nodded, then realized the implication of what he'd said. She shifted in the saddle to look at him. “And here I thought you were going to fight my battles for me.”

“Do you
want
me to fight your battles for you?”

“It would be the chivalrous thing to do, I think.”

He swung down from Iteach and looked up at her, putting his hand on her boot. “I would fight all your battles for you, Aisling, if you would allow it, but I'll not rob you of victories that should be yours by right and responsibility.”

She pursed her lips at him. “Why must you be so noble?”

“Penance for my youthful prattishness,” he said solemnly. “But because I want you to feel properly championed, why don't we solve the tangle this way? I'll clear the field of lesser opponents, leaving you free to come along behind me and see to the captains of the mayhem. And I'll keep my sword loose in its sheath in case they become too feisty for my taste or your patience.”

“In truth?”

“Actually,” he said, “I would prefer to see to it all for you, but I'll do what pleases you.”

“What I want and what should happen appear to be two separate things at the moment.”

He smiled and took her reins from her. “Well, when you decide which will have the upper hand, let me know.”

She dismounted with far less grace than he had, then held on to the very lovely saddle Orail had provided for her. “I wish I had your courage. You know.” She paused. “When you went to the well.”

“I was young and arrogant,” he said, “and as I've told you before, too stupid to be afraid. I also had a fair idea of what to expect, having seen my father at his craft innumerable times before. And we had a plan in place that we had discussed until we were all heartily sick of it.”

“Is that what I need?” she asked. “A plan?”

“It might help,” he agreed. “Not knowing what to expect does put us at a disadvantage. I suppose we could have ourselves a drink in the local pub and try to pick up a bit of gossip, but I fear given the size of this village that we would immediately
become
the local gossip and then the element of surprise would be lost to us.”

She forced herself to breathe normally. “Is that what we're counting on?”

“Surprise?” he asked, then shrugged. “It seems prudent. Do your parents—or whatever they are—have magic, do you think?”

“I don't think so,” she said. She shook her head. “I'm not sure I want to know.”

“Then we'll assume they don't or they would be living in a far more exclusive village than this one. If they've no magic, then we have nothing to worry about except that someone might drop a brick on my head from an upstairs window and you'll be forced to use my sword to defend us. I'll keep a weather eye out and you knock on the door. When they're overcome with surprise, we'll have out of them the details we've come for, then be on our way.”

She supposed there were worse plans than that one. She also supposed it was possible she would find that the two they were preparing to visit were in truth her parents, she had no magic, and perhaps she and Rùnach would go off and live their lives according to his original plan of disappearing into the employ of an obscure lord. She could weave, he could wield his sword, and they could live unremarkable lives filled with unremarkable things.

She took a deep breath. “Do we hide the horses?”

He put his hand on Iteach's withers and studied his horse. He shrugged. “He claims they'll shapechange if they sense danger. Apparently Orail's progenitors stretch back into the mists of time, a line of rare fillies bred on the steppes of the Blàraidh Mountains where magic covers everything like fine dew and flavors the water in a particularly delightful way.” He smiles. “His description, not mine.”

Aisling looked at her horse and suddenly saw with perfectly clarity just where she had been foaled and the lush, green pasture where she'd spent her weaning years. There was definitely magic involved, a magic that spoke to her own.

That magic she wasn't quite sure she was ready to accept.

It was almost enough to make her weep. She put her hand on her horse's withers and felt the connection deepen. She blinked a time or two at a gentle look from her mount, then looked at Rùnach. She found that words were beyond her.

Rùnach smiled. “How are you, Aisling?”

“Staggered.”

“I can say with absolute honestly that I understand just how you feel.”

She jumped a little as their horses slipped into the shapes of two great eagles, then sighed as they swept up into the sky and vanished. She watched the spot where she'd last seem them, then turned to Rùnach.

“I'm assuming they'll return.”

“At just the right time, I imagine,” he said. “Shall we?”

She hesitated, then stepped forward and put her arms around him. She didn't want to shake, but she supposed she had reason enough. Rùnach's hand on her hair was pleasing, but she wasn't sure anything would have truly soothed her at present. Her stomach was churning as if giant waves of fear were being created and crashing inside her belly just to torment her. She finally pulled away and took hold of herself.

“I'm fine.”

“I never thought anything else.”

She shot him a quick look because she supposed he had thought all manner of things he hadn't wanted to say about her lack of courage, but he was only watching her steadily, as if he sought to gift her a bit of his own strength. She took a deep breath, then nodded. There was no other choice but to walk on.

The first score of steps wasn't nearly as unpleasant as the second score, simply because she hadn't realized at first where she was. She did soon enough.

The memories were very vague but undeniable. It occurred to her as she walked through that village green, which was anything but lush and inviting, that twenty years of distance hadn't changed things much. The buildings surrounding the square were sadly in need of care that wasn't limited to a fresh coat of paint. There were windows that obviously didn't shut very well, doors that had been poorly repaired, flagstones that were cracked and uneven. The well in the middle of the square was definitely being used, but also in need of extensive masonry work.

She looked up at Rùnach quickly, but he was only watching their surroundings with no expression on his face. He glanced at her, smiled briefly, then went back to his watching. It occurred to her that he was perhaps looking out for things that weren't as they should have been, so she left it to him and continued to put one foot in front of the other.

She paused at the far edge of the square. “I'm not sure where to go now.”

“I'll ask someone.”

She watched him look around for a likely suspect. He stopped a young lad and held out a coin.

“The goodman Riochdair,” he said pleasantly. “His house?”

The lad gulped. “Straight on, my lord, and bear to the right.” He pointed with a shaking hand. “There against the forest is his house. Biggest in the area, of course, and the finest.”

Aisling didn't doubt it. Rùnach handed the lad the coin and watched him run off before he turned to look at her.

“Ready?”

“I'm not sure I am, but there isn't anything to be done, is there?”

“Paths can be thorny.”

She grimaced. “I'm sorry. This seems a trivial thing.”

“It isn't,” he said simply. He took her hand. “I suspect our little friend will be collecting another coin soon for informing our future hosts of visitors, though, so perhaps we shouldn't dawdle.”