Dreamer's Daughter (13 page)

“Well, no one wants to see his country overrun,” Riochdair said defensively. “But what was I to do? I have no sword, no magic, nothing but the force of my commerce and position here in the village to bring to bear anywhere. I am the mayor, you know.”

“I didn't know. Impressive.”

Riochdair looked as if he wished it were. “There are rumors that the current, ah,
king
has magic.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think he is evil and he wants nothing but the destruction of my country. But what am I to do about it?”

Rùnach smiled gravely. “I believe, Mayor Riochdair, that you've done what you could. The fight now must be taken up by those who have the weapons to fight it.” He paused, then looked at Aisling's cousin. “Have you heard any names bandied about? Sglaimir, of course, but any others? Anything unusual?”

“How do you know Sglaimir?”

“I've simply heard his name mentioned.” There was no reason to burden the man with anything else he might know.

Riochdair glanced around him, but he'd been doing that for the past hour so perhaps it was nothing new. He rose and nodded for Rùnach to do the same. “Let's walk back to the house,” he said loudly.

Rùnach retrieved his sword and did as he was bid.

“Sglaimir is very visible,” Riochdair said, almost under his breath. “Loud, brash, and cruel. But I'm not sure he's bright enough to destroy an entire country.”

“Have you any ideas who might be helping him?”

Riochdair took a deep breath. “I've heard there is a darkness in . . .” He looked at Rùnach. “You won't believe this and perhaps you've never heard of the place, but I understand there is a darkness in Ceangail that extends into Bruadair.”

Rùnach put his hand over his mouth on the pretext of rubbing his lips. “Have you heard the name Acair?”

Riochdair staggered. He looked at Rùnach in horror. “How do you possibly know that name?”

Rùnach put his hand on the other man's shoulder. “Smile and don't be a fool. I assume we're being observed.”

“I imagine so. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

Rùnach wished he could say the same thing. “I know many things. Where I learned them isn't very interesting. I'm simply curious what you've heard and how recently.”

“Why would I tell you?” Riochdair asked through a very tight smile. “I don't even know who you are, unless you feel a sudden inclination to share that information with me.”

“I'm not sure the knowledge would serve you,” Rùnach said, “and perhaps 'tis a detail you wouldn't want to have to reveal under duress. If I'm not assuming too much.”

Riochdair shook his head. “I'm a dead man anyway. Have been for quite some time now. Men from the Guild were crawling through my house for days after Aisling disappeared.” He looked at Rùnach bleakly. “I told them nothing.”

“Is that why you limp?”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“You hide it well, but aye,” Rùnach said mildly, “I noticed. What did they want?”

“What you want,” Riochdair said wearily. “Tidings about Aisling's father. I didn't tell them anything, if that atones for anything I did before.” He paused. “I'm not sure it will for Aisling.”

Rùnach wasn't about to offer any opinion. That was Aisling's forgiveness to tender if she cared to, not his. He belted his sword around his hips, then looked at Aisling's cousin.

“My father is Gair of Ceangail.”

Riochdair actually took a step backward. “Why does she keep company with you, then?”

“Because I am not my father.”

Riochdair didn't look at all comforted. “Then you know of the evil that comes from that place.”

“All too well,” Rùnach agreed, “unfortunately. And though my father is contained, I have several bastard brothers who are at liberty to involve themselves in things that interest them. I can think of several who would give much to have their own country to rule.” Or more than just Bruadair, admittedly, but he supposed there was no reason to burden Aisling's cousin with that thought.

“And you think that has happened here?”

Rùnach hesitated. “I don't want to believe it, but I have my suspicions.”

Riochdair gestured inelegantly toward Rùnach's sword. “Do they know your parentage in Durial?”

“Very well.”

The man accepted that with a thoughtful frown. “You have no pretensions to Bruadair's throne, then.”

Rùnach smiled in spite of himself. “Assuredly not. Pretensions to making your niece my wife, most definitely, but nothing else.”

“You'll have to ask her father.”

“I had considered that.”

Riochdair blinked suddenly. “Wait. If your father was Gair of Ceangail, then that makes your mother Sarait of Tòrr Dòrainn . . . your grandfather is King Sìle . . . Sgath . . . Eulasaid—”

Rùnach allowed the man to mentally investigate the branches of his family tree, then smiled faintly. “So it does.”

The man looked as if he wanted something very strong to drink. “And you're here for my cousin.”

“And to see if a black mage or two can be set outside the borders like the refuse they are.”

“I have no sword to offer—”

“I'm not asking for that from you,” Rùnach said quickly. “Suggestions on where to find the man we're looking for is enough.”

Riochdair didn't move. “I'm not sure, if you'll have the entire truth, that simply telling the truth that I had no idea where Aisling was is enough.” He paused, then straightened. “I will offer my sword, if it would be useful.”

Rùnach nodded. “I'll remember that.”

Aisling's cousin didn't seem in any hurry to go back into the house. “I don't know much about that side of my family. Where Aisling's father comes from. We're related through our grandparents, so perhaps that's only to be expected. But there was always something odd about them.” He paused. “Odd in a magical sense, if you want the truth. Hard to believe, isn't it—well, perhaps not for you, of course.”

“There are many odd things in the world,” Rùnach conceded, “and many normal things that take on characteristics we imbue them with. Perhaps that's all that happened there. You say yourself that you didn't have much to do with your cousins. Perhaps they simply wanted to lord over you an imagined bit of something they made up.”

Riochdair nodded hopefully, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to believe just that. “It isn't as if Aisling has any magic, is it?”

“Why would she?” Rùnach asked. “Most people don't.” Actually, he was continually surprised by how many people had at least some spell or charm tucked away in their cupboards for an emergency, but he supposed there was no reason to clutter up Riochdair's dreams with that thought.

“She has her father's eyes,” Riochdair added. “Very odd, but perhaps that's what leads them to make claims that couldn't possibly be true.” He nodded toward the kitchen garden door. “I'll go make that list for you. It might take you a bit if you're walking, though I'm not sure you'd want to buy horses here. They've taken all the good ones for use in the city.”

Rùnach assured him they would manage on their own, then walked with him back to the house and into the kitchens.

Dallag was there, hissing at Aisling. To his surprise, Aisling looked rather paler than he would have suspected. The second thing that surprised him was the anger that flooded through him. He realized there was a hand on his arm only when it realized it was Aisling's.

“I am well,” she said loudly.

He drew his hand over his eyes, then nodded. He let out his breath slowly, forcing the tension to leave him as well. He took Aisling by the hand and drew her with him after her cousin. He had no idea what Dallag had been saying to her, but he supposed it didn't matter. The sooner they were free of the place, the better.

He kept Aisling nearby as he closeted himself with the master of the house in his library. He forced himself to pay attention to the map laid on the table there and to commit to memory the places indicated. He supposed what he needed was something to eat, but couldn't bring himself to blame his ire on that.

Perhaps he was tired.

He made the polite conversation required as they took their leave, but couldn't deny he was thrilled at the thought of leaving the house and its occupants behind.

“But my gift,” Dallag protested suddenly.

Rùnach paused on the path leading away from the front door. He considered, then pulled the knife from his boot. He then took the echo of the rune his cousin Còir had gifted him and caught it on the tip of the blade. He turned, flung that shadow up over the doorway of Dallag's house, then nodded to Riochdair before he turned to Aisling.

“Finished?”

“I think we'd best be.” She glanced at the rune over the door, then looked at him. “A rune of opening?”

“'Tis a pretty thing, isn't it?”

She smiled and it was as if the entire world around her smiled as well. “It was just an echo of one, though, wasn't it?”

“It would appear so.”

“Has it any efficacy left, do you suppose?”

“They won't ever manage to shut their damned front door, that's what I suppose.”

She reached for his hand. “I love you. And let's go before Dallag realizes what you've given her.”

“I think we should pause and discuss your feelings for me,” he said. “I'm always more interested in that than endlessly open front doors.”

She only smiled and pulled on him. “I need to be away from here before I'm no longer successful in stifling my reaction to your gift. And look, here come our horses.”

Rùnach watched Iteach and Orail swoop down, then change themselves into horses with outrageously bejeweled tack right there in the front garden. He was half surprised the ponies weren't staggering under the weight of it all. There were various gasps and a shriek or two from the house. He wasn't entirely certain he hadn't heard the particular thump a body makes when it faints without anyone to catch it, but he didn't care enough to look over his shoulder and make certain.

Iteach lifted his tail over the flowerbed but Rùnach stopped him with a look. Iteach tossed his head in disgust, but figuratively sat back on his heels and waited for them to exit the garden first. Rùnach gave his horse an approving look, then walked with Aisling out the low front gate. He waited until they were out of eavesdropping distance before he looked at her.

“I wonder if we shouldn't head back toward Beul.”

She paled. “Why in the world would we want to go back there?”

“Because I have the feeling Dallag wasn't trotting out her front door to see what I gifted her.” He took a deep breath. “I think she intends to sell us to Sglaimir. We should give her a reason to think we're headed in a direction we don't value. Back toward Beul seems reasonable.”

“And where do you think we should end up?”

“Anywhere else,” he said with feeling. “We'll double back under cover of darkness and find a safe place to sleep for a couple of hours. Then we can study Riochdair's map and see where it leads us.”

“And if Sglaimir finds us?”

He suppressed the urge to drag his hand through his hair. “We'll have to use magic.”

“I don't know how to use mine.”

“Neither do I, but I think we'd best unhide ours and figure it out sooner rather than later, wouldn't you agree?”

“Would Soilléir approve of that?”

“He's not here to give us that look he has that says volumes whilst he remains perfectly silent.” He found it in him to smile a bit. “I can't imagine he would expect us to do anything but what we must to see our present business accomplished. And I don't know about you, but I feel as if he not only applied a bit of patina to my magic, he applied mold to me. Do I look older?”

She pursed her lips. “You look no more than a score and ten, and I imagine you'll look that way for the rest of your life. How I'll look in fifty years, we can only imagine.”

“Ethereal,” he said with a smile. “Like something from a dream, as always.” He nodded. “Let's go make a spectacle of ourselves in the town square, then ride off in the direction of Beul. When we're a mile or two out, we'll let our ponies do what they do and flap off into the distance. Perhaps we'll even manage supper.”

She nodded and walked on with him. He spared a glance over his shoulder, ostensibly to see if the horses were following them, when in reality he simply wanted to see what sort of chaos he'd left behind.

The entire family was standing in the front yard, looking up at the rune that was almost visible, sparkling there in the sunlight. The door was, unsurprisingly enough, open. Còir would have been proud.

He looked at Aisling, winked, and continued on with her. He was tempted to ask her what Dallag had said to her, but he supposed that was something he could safely put off for a bit. There would be time enough later to discuss that as well as runes, anger, and the fact that her cousin had been dreaming as well.

He couldn't begin to imagine how they were all connected.

A
isling sat in front of the fire on a stool, Rùnach's sword propped up against the chair facing her, and tried to take her mind off her current straits by looking at the runes engraved upon not only the blade itself, but also the hilt and the crossbars.

It was a lovely sword, to be sure. She studied the runes there and wished she had the skill to decipher them all. She supposed most of them were runes of the house of Tòrr Dòrainn, though she only recognized a pair of them because she'd seen the same on the backs of Rùnach's hands. They were beautiful and sharp, as if the magic of Sìle's kingdom had been taken and translated into something fit for battle. Beautiful and deadly, indeed.

She frowned thoughtfully as she leaned forward to study things there that didn't seem as familiar. She reached out to touch the blade and a different set of runes flashed. Not a lovely intertwining of gold and silver but rather a more sparkling sort of business, as if they'd been diamonds crushed beyond recognition, then mixed in a medium that allowed that glittering to be formed into lines and shapes that spoke of power and majesty. She considered, then smiled. Runes of the house of Ainneamh, apparently. She might have suspected that King Uachdaran had ordered those engraven there to irritate some elven king or other, but perhaps the truth was no more complicated than the fact that Rùnach had claim to both thrones in one way or another.

That was something she tended not to think about very often.

She leaned forward to study the hilt and crossbar. There were other things inscribed there, but she had never seen anything like them before. She reached out and pulled the sword over into her hands. It was long, much longer than she supposed she ever would have been comfortable using, but she managed to get the hilt propped up against her knees. She leaned over it and traced the markings there. They glowed briefly as she touched them, then faded after a moment or two. They weren't like anything she had seen before, either on Rùnach's hands or in the dwarf king's palace. They were . . . different. Harder, yet somehow not giving the impression they were carved of stone, while at the same time soft, as if it had been an echo of a dream. The runes whispered to her, but she couldn't quite hear what they were saying.

She wondered if they were Bruadairian runes.

A knock at the door startled her so badly that she leaped up and almost sent Rùnach's sword into the fire. She would have reached for it, but it was quite suddenly in Rùnach's hands and he was between her and the door. She put her hand on his back to steady herself, though he was the one who had not a heartbeat before been sound asleep.

He glanced over his shoulder, but she shrugged. She hadn't asked for anyone to come bring them anything and she suspected neither had he. They'd checked in the night before, truly in the middle of the night, but they'd asked for nothing but a room. Rùnach had locked the door, then insisted that she sleep first while he kept watch. She had tried to argue, but she suspected she would never outlast him in a contest of stubbornness. She'd woken at dawn only because her dreams had been troubled, full of things following her that she couldn't see, full of things lying in wait for her that she couldn't find.

She'd woken to find Rùnach simply sitting in front of the fire, staring into the flames. She'd almost sent him tumbling into it by touching his shoulder. He'd risen, embraced her briefly, handed her his sword, then cast himself on the bed. She'd half suspected he'd been asleep before his head had touched the pillow.

He was fully awake at the moment. He reached for her hand, pulled her forward to stand next to him, then pointed to a spot behind the door. She nodded and walked silently across the chamber, pausing only to draw her knife from her boot. It was something Soilléir had given her, no doubt for his own perversely secret reasons. She supposed in the end she would do nothing more with it than cut twine that kept batts of wool together, but what did she know? If she could be of any use to the man standing in front of the door, a man who looked as if he fully intended to do damage to anyone who walked inside their chamber, she would.

Rùnach opened the door and there was a sudden crash.

“Oh,” a girl squeaked. “I was just bringin' ye a meal, milord. No need to stab me!”

Rùnach didn't put up his sword, but he did smile. “My apologies, lass, of course. Old habits die hard.”

Aisling heard the girl collecting bits of shattered crockery and listened to someone else come with a rag to wipe the floor.

“We didn't order a meal,” Rùnach said finally.

“Compliments of the master himself,” the girl said. “I'll bring ye another straightway.”

“That would be much appreciated,” Rùnach said politely. “And many thanks to the master.” He shut the door, then put his hand on it and looked at Aisling. “That was interesting.”

She slid her knife back into its sheath. “Do you think that was poisoned? Or are they saving that for the next round, do you think?”

He laughed a little. “Aisling, my love, we need to find a place in our lives where when we look at something, we don't suspect it of being something else entirely.” He paused. “I'm not sure that makes any sense. Am I awake?”

“I think so, but perhaps you should sit.”

“Perhaps I should.”

She waited until he'd collapsed into the chair there in front of the fire and propped his sword up against its arm before she sat down on the stool in front of him. She started a little at the look on his face.

“What?”

He shook his head with a faint smile. “Just looking at you.”

“You
are
still asleep.”

His smile faded. “How are you, Aisling?”

“Fine.”

He pursed his lips. “How
are
you, Aisling?”

How to answer that? She had gone back to the Guild, a place she had sworn she would never set foot in again, survived escaping Beul, then faced the people who had sold her into slavery only to discover that one of them was a relative. She had listened to her former foster mother spew horrible threats at her, then had the satisfaction of riding off on a shapechanging horse worth a king's ransom. It had been a very eventful pair of days, to be sure. She looked at Rùnach and managed a smile.

“I'm still thinking about front doors that will never close.”

“A stroke of genius,” he said modestly, “if I do say so myself.”

She rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. “It was.”

“We can still try to find a mine for her to labor in, if you like. Your cousin as well.”

“I'm not sure either of them is worth the trouble,” she said with a sigh. “And I'm not sure I can hold Riochdair entirely responsible. Her, aye, I think I can, but not him.”

“She'll be cleaning her entryway endlessly, if that's a comfort. I hate to think of what will crawl in her front door whilst she's asleep.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should have seen to that as well. I did spend quite a bit of my youth in Ceangail, as you know. I have a great store of terrible memories to draw on if necessary.”

She attempted a smile. “I'm sorry for it, but you already know that.” She sighed. “As for Dallag, I suppose just never being able to shut her front door will be enough to drive her mad. I'm just happy I won't be there to hear about it.” She considered her hands, then looked at him. “I'm not sure the visit was worth what we went through to have it.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” he said. “We now have several ideas about where to go look for your father and, again, thoughts of blisters on her hands from too much sweeping to keep us warm.” He paused. “I will admit I am hesitant to set off searching in the dark, as it were, lest we disturb a hornet's nest, but I'm not sure what else we can do.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I'm thinking that if there were those interested enough in your whereabouts to look for you as far as Malcte, perhaps there might be those interested still.”

“Leaving the Guild is very serious business,” she said, because it was. “Surely it was nothing more than that.”

He looked at her steadily. “I suppose that's possible, but your cousin seemed more unsettled than he should have for being someone who had merely been questioned about a simple runaway worker.”

“Perhaps they mistook me for someone else.”

“Aisling, they almost crippled him when he refused to divulge your whereabouts,” Rùnach said seriously. “I didn't question him about the colors the guards were wearing, because I imagine they weren't guards but private soldiers sent out to find information or else.”

She looked at her hands that he had leaned forward and taken in his own, then met his eyes. “I didn't know.”

“Perhaps there is some comfort in knowing he didn't betray you. Not this last time.”

She ignored the shudder that went through her. “Then you think they were looking for me.”

“What I think is that we were fortunate to escape the Guildmistress's office with our lives,” he said, rubbing her hands absently, “and aye, I think they were looking for you. For reasons I don't imagine we need to discuss.”

She squeezed his hands briefly, then rose. She paced for a bit until even that became almost unbearable. She stopped in front of Rùnach and looked at him.

He was leaning back in his chair, watching her with his clear green eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“So, if you don't want to accidentally stumble into something we won't like, what do you suggest?” she asked.

“I suggest we take our magic out of mothballs and see how it shakes out. At this point, knowing what will likely be following us sooner rather than later, I think we both need our magic readily available.”

“Do you—”

The knock startled her so badly that time, she jumped. Rùnach rose with a smile.

“Not to worry,” he said easily, then walked toward the door. “I'll see to it.”

Aisling didn't share his sense of ease, so she pulled the knife from her boot and walked over to stand behind the door again.

Thankfully it was nothing more nefarious than breakfast. Rùnach thanked the maid, took the tray himself, then shut the door with his foot. Aisling bolted it and went to find a small table to put in front of the fire. Rùnach fetched another chair for her, waited for her to sit, then joined her there. He smiled.

“Very domestic and normal,” he noted.

She would have laughed, but she hadn't slept well and she wasn't quite sure she would ever get to the point where there wasn't a great knot in her belly. It was all she could do to grimace.

“Is it poisoned, do you think?” she asked uneasily.

“Can you tell?”

“The question is, do I want to look?” she said. “And the answer is, nay, I do not, but I suppose I would rather look than be dead.”

Rùnach leaned over and sniffed a fried egg. “It doesn't smell poisoned.”

She looked at the feast spread out before her and wondered if he might be right. It was more than she would have seen in a week's time at the Guild. It was almost more than she could bring herself to believe someone would ruin on purpose. She looked at Rùnach.

“This inn must be very expensive.”

“It is,” he agreed cheerfully. “Well-heeled clients have certain expectations of security. And food free of suspicious substances.” He lifted one eyebrow. “You could have a peek with a magical eye to see what you can see, though, if you like.”

She wiped her hands on her leggings. “The thought is appalling.”

“I can't imagine,” he said, his smile fading. “Frightening?”

“Terrifying.”

He reached over and held out his hand, waiting until she put hers into it. “Terrifying, perhaps, but think on what awaits you past the terror.”

“Death?”

He laughed a little, leaned over and kissed her hand, then released her and sat back. “I don't think that is your fate, love, but I'm a hopeful sort of lad. You could try a spell of revealing.”

“Could I? Why don't you, instead?”

He started to speak—no doubt to protest—then shrugged. “Very well, why not? I suppose I'll have to attempt something eventually, so there's no point in putting it off.” He considered the chamber, then shook his head. “We should likely draw some sort of spell over our spot here, though. To keep what we attempt private.”

“That would be useful—”

She stopped speaking. Rùnach did as well. She wasn't sure where to look first, but she chose the floor first only because she blamed it for forcing her to pull her feet up so quickly that she almost gave herself a fat lip by knocking her knees against her mouth. Apparently she wasn't as anonymous inside Bruadair as she'd dared hope she might be, but perhaps that wasn't as terrible a thing as they had feared.

Bruadair's magic had spread something beneath them, then over their heads. A thin, shimmering sort of curtain then dropped down around them. It was so faint, she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't dreaming the whole thing. She reached out and touched what she thought she saw.