A Tapestry of Spells (17 page)

She walked over to him quietly and touched his elbow. Too late, she realized it was his right elbow, the one that bore the marks apparently only she could see. He flinched, hard, then startled out of his dream. He turned and looked at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.

She didn’t need more words to know what he was talking about. He had already refused to help the man inside, and he was refusing again. She could see that rejection didn’t come without cost, though. There was obviously something dreadful going on inside him, something that wouldn’t—

Her thoughts screeched to a halt much like Castân on a good day in his youth.

Not wouldn’t.
Couldn’t.

She realized with a startling flash that she now knew what the truth was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to use any magic, or that he was purposely making her daft by leading her on merry chases through nests of thieves and thugs to look for her brother when all it would have taken was some sort of finding spell. Nay, it wasn’t that. The truth of it should have been plain from the start, but she hadn’t been looking hard enough to see it.

Ruith couldn’t aid her, because Ruith had no magic.

It was the only answer that made sense. How he had managed to live all those years up on the side of that mountain without it was a mystery, though she supposed it would have been easy to keep up that appearance of fierceness. Certainly his physical presence would have been enough to do it. Perhaps he had relied on spells left behind by the former mage. Any other sorts of terror could have been cultivated with words alone.

She took a deep breath and felt a great deal of tension ease out of her. She couldn’t even be angry with him. He had built his life around what others took to be true. Telling them they were mistaken, admitting that he might not possess what they assumed he did, would not only be a blow to his pride; it might spell the end of his life.

She understood that perfectly, actually.

She decided abruptly that the only thing she could do at the moment was continue on as they had been and pretend nothing had changed. It was one of the things she did best, that ignoring of what might upset the balance of everyone’s life but hers.

Somehow, though, when it came to preserving the equilibrium of the man standing in front of her, she didn’t mind it.

“I’m going to look for herbs in the village,” she said. “I’ll take everyone with me so they can fetch supplies.”
And so
you can have a few
minutes
to
yourself.
“Would it be inconvenient for you to go stand guard over that poor mage?”

He shook his head silently, his eyes full of terrible things.

She hesitated, then cast caution to the wind. “Can I help you, Ruith?” she asked very quietly.

He looked at her, startled, as if the thought of someone else offering to ease his pain was one he’d never entertained.

“Nay,” he said roughly. “I am well.”

He continued to say that, but she didn’t believe him. She wasn’t going to press him on it, though. Even mages who apparently weren’t mages but only men still had pride enough to want to save.

“I’ll be off, then,” she said. She wasn’t altogether sure she should leave him alone, but she was not his keeper, nor his mother, nor his... well, his anything else. He could surely get himself back across the fields to the mage’s house without her aid.

She turned and walked away. She would have to do one more sleight of hand and prepare herbs that passed for something more potent. Whether or not they would help that poor destroyed man lying in that bed was yet to be seen.

She entertained the idea of leaving her companions where they were, but she changed her mind when she saw them straggling out of the mage’s home. They would surely find Ruith with enough time and for some reason, she just couldn’t bear the thought of them seeing him in his present condition.

She collected them all, including the villagers, and shepherded them all into the center of town. It took only moments to reach it and even less time for Master Franciscus to suggest that a visit to the local pub to taste the wares, even at such an early hour, was an appropriate use of their time. Sarah shot him a grateful look, then waited until they’d all trooped off to be about their business.

She took a deep breath, then looked around. The village was only slightly larger than Doire, though considerably more attractive. The apothecary was located near the village green, and marked by an important-looking sign hanging over a sturdy door. Sarah went inside and stopped still to breathe.

The smells were almost as overwhelming to her as her first sight of the fields near Bruaih. She opened her eyes to look about her and could scarce believe the abundance there. Shelves upon shelves stocked with jars, bottles, and sachets full of wholesome-smelling things. Sarah put her hand on the doorframe for a moment to steady herself. Perhaps there was something strange about the shop, for she could have sworn she saw little shadows fixed to all the tinctures and potions and bags of herbs, shadows that bespoke their virtue and healing powers. She rubbed her eyes, then looked again, but echoes of the herbs were still there, faint but sure.

She pushed away from the door and floated along an aisle, seeing things she’d never seen before and hoping no one would notice how she periodically had to hold on to shelves and counters to keep herself from drifting away. By the time she made it to the far end of the shop, she wasn’t sure if she were dreaming or awake.

“Hello, dearie,” said a well-worn, comforting voice.

Sarah blinked, feeling as if she had just woken, to see a wizened old woman standing behind a counter, filling sachets full of good things.

“Ah, good morning,” Sarah managed. “I’ve come for a few herbs.”

The woman looked at her from surprisingly clear blue eyes. “For Lord Seirceil?”

Sarah blinked. “Is he a lord, then?”

“The youngest son of an obscure nobleman from Meith,” the woman said placidly. “Too kind for his own good, or so it would seem.”

“Do you know what befell him?” Sarah asked carefully.

The woman continued to scoop and fill. “Things are stirring in the world, my gel, things that had slept for many years. There are rumors of creatures from the north hunting a particular magic.” She looked up. “And a particular bloodline.”

“Is that what attacked Lord Seirceil?” Sarah asked, feeling her mouth go dry.

The old woman shook her head. “The evil that attacked him is not the same, though I suspect in the end, we’ll find it connected.” She smiled. “But all things are connected in the end, aren’t they, dearie?”

Sarah felt suddenly quite ill. This was the reason she loathed magic. She didn’t want to be pulled into a web of things she couldn’t see—or hadn’t been able to see before, actually—things that were beyond her abilities to control, or best, or even wrap what was left of her poor wits around. She wanted to find Daniel, stick a knife between his ribs, and be done with him. Then she wanted to find a peaceful place, a
safe
place, a place free of all magic save the use of the word her customers might make to describe her handwork.

She wasn’t sure she could go back into Seirceil’s house and see what her brother had left of him.

“You don’t think just a mage harmed your wizard?” Sarah heard the words coming out of her mouth and wished she could have stopped them, but ’twas too late. “A blond man, carrying his arrogance about his shoulders like a fine cloak?”

The woman frowned thoughtfully, tapping her scoop against the end of her wrinkled chin. “Saw one of those sorts earlier this morning, but there was a cloud surrounding him, so I can’t say as he’s the one you’re looking for. You might have a look, though, lovey. You can see, can’t you?”

Sarah had absolutely no response for that.

The old woman pushed a large sack across the well-worn wood. “Take those, my gel. Do with them what you think best.”

Sarah fumbled for her coins, but the woman shook her head. Sarah would have argued, but in truth she was feeling very ill, and she wasn’t altogether sure she wouldn’t need to find somewhere to sit down sooner rather than later. She nodded her thanks, because that was all she could manage, then staggered out of the shop, clutching a heavy bag of what she assumed were herbs.

She was so busy concentrating on keeping her feet that she didn’t realize she’d almost knocked someone else off his until he stumbled about in a flurry of velvet and lace.

“Oh, my apologies,” Sarah said quickly, reaching out a hand to steady him.

The man straightened, then turned slowly and smoothed his hand down the front of his blue velvet coat. “Not to worry, my dear. My fault for not seeing you, of course.” He inclined his head. “I hope you suffered no lasting damage from our encounter.”

Sarah looked at the man standing three paces from her and forced herself not to recoil at the darkness she saw clinging to him. She shook her head, sure she was imagining things. He was nothing more than a very handsome man of indeterminate age, dressed in a dark blue coat that accentuated his very fair hair and skin. He reminded her a bit of Daniel in his coloring, though certainly not in his dress. He was obviously a gentleman of quality and fortune, if his clothing was any indication.

“Nay,” she said, dragging herself back to herself. “I am unhurt.”

“I wish I could say the same,” the man said with a long-suffering sigh. “I find myself, however, lost in a foreign land with no friends or family. Or means of travel, if you can fathom that.”

Sarah didn’t dare suggest that he use his feet. His boots were too shiny for anyone who might have been familiar with a more pedestrian means of getting from place to place than a carriage with a team of perfectly matched horses.

The man tilted his head and looked at her. “You wouldn’t know of any companies leaving this primitive outpost. Would you?”

“I am not the master of my company,” she said, stalling, “and I’m not sure if he has the patience for being the minder for any additions.”

The man lifted an eyebrow, then inclined his head as he took a step back. “Of course. I understand. A good journey to you, then.”

Sarah nodded, then watched him turn and walk away. She could honestly say he appeared to be nothing more than a man, so perhaps she had sent him off without reason.

She contemplated going after him, then shook her head. She had trouble enough behind her without adding to it. She had a quick look for the rest of her group, but saw none of them. Obviously, the pub had been as interesting as Franciscus had hoped it would be.

She held the herbs close to her chest and breathed in their healing scent. Perhaps she could fashion a tea from them and have it serve Lord Seirceil in some manner. Unfortunately, she had the feeling that no amount of tea was going to give Ruith any ease—

She stumbled, then came to an ungainly halt as she remembered her realization from earlier.

Ruith had no magic.

And if he had no magic, how could he help her find Daniel? And if he couldn’t, how would she possibly manage it on her own? Or if Daniel continued on his present course, would there be any mages ahead of her left to try to enlist in her quest?

She toyed again briefly with the idea of simply sitting down and giving up. That wasn’t something she’d ever allowed herself in the past, but she was tempted to at present. The task before her had again become too large, too full of things she had no desire to face, too far beyond any of her capabilities, only now she didn’t even have a crotchety, supposedly ancient mage to aid her. She was left with a mage damaged by her brother, an alemaster and a lad, and a man who was obviously something far different from what he wanted others to believe he was.

And herself.

She wished she had the power to weave a tapestry large enough to stretch over half the Nine Kingdoms, with threads that would tempt Daniel so greatly that he would follow them in an ever-tightening circle until they led him into a clutch of wizards with no interest in anything but keeping the world free of foolish lads tinkering with things beyond their ken.

But she didn’t have that power, so she would make do with what she could do and hope that answers would come from where she hadn’t looked for them.

R
uith stared off into the full light of the morning sun. The light should have been a relief—daylight always was—but it did nothing to cure either the chill in his heart or the darkness in his mind.

His father had told him that once, ayear before his death. Ruith had found it ironic at the time considering how he’d felt about the demon who was his father, but he had to admit now that Gair had spoken the truth. He could likely run every day for the rest of his life and he would never outrun either his past or the path that was laid out in front of him that he knew he had to take.