The White Spell (22 page)

“I should be offended,” Acair said, enjoying another pull. “I've worked very hard to earn all my accolades and the terror they inspire.”

Sgath smiled briefly, then he sobered. Acair was tempted to shift, or suggest that perhaps a visit to the woodshed would be less painful than what he suspected was coming his way, but he found that all he could do was sit there and brace himself for what he was certain would be a terrible dressing down.

“I have watched you over the years.”

Acair nodded grimly. “I wouldn't be surprised.”

“I will tell you this, not because you asked but because I'm well-seasoned and my opinion is always of great interest to those around me.” His expression was very serious. “I don't think you have it in you.”

Acair frowned. “Have what in me?”

“That which my son has in him, that hard edge that makes him what he is.”

“But of course I do,” Acair protested. “Murder, mayhem, mischief. I live for that sort of rot.”

Sgath shook his head. “I am not young, Acair, and I have seen the comings and goings of all sorts of elves and wizards and mage kings. I will tell you this, not to flatter you, but because you need to hear it. Gair was my son and I loved him. I still do, because he
is my son. But there is a cruelty to him that has not found home in you. Your brothers, aye, and Doílain is the worst of that lot, but not you. Oh, you might try to wallow in foul deeds and I will concede that you richly deserve everything Rùnach and Soilléir have put you through, but I think you give yourself too much credit for wanting evil.”

“I don't want evil,” Acair protested, “I want the world at my feet.”

“Try charm,” Sgath said dryly. “You have enough of that and to spare.”

“You mean as in be polite, flatter, ingratiate myself with those I intend to rob of their magic?”

“Aye, something like that.” He chuckled a bit, then shook his head. “Why you want power from anyone else, I don't know. You have a vast amount of it all on your own.”

“Is it ever enough?”

“I think so, but perhaps I have a different perspective,” Sgath said. “I'm not one for glittering salons.”

Acair wouldn't have admitted it under pain of death, but he wasn't sure he cared for it all that much any longer himself.

“By the way, I think you won't have much anonymity going forward,” Sgath remarked. “Ehrne wasn't shy about letting anyone who would listen know that he had you in his dungeon. He'll invent some rot about having been magnanimous enough to have let you go, of course.”

“I wouldn't doubt it,” Acair said. He took a deep breath. “Thank you for the rescue. I'm not too proud to say I couldn't have managed it on my own.”

Sgath smiled. “You're welcome, grandson.”

“I've never thought of you that way,” Acair said slowly. “As a relative.”

“You were too busy wreaking havoc to have time for social niceties.”

“Probably,” Acair agreed. “Black magery is time consuming.”

Sgath laughed. “I imagine it is, my boy.” He gestured to Acair's mug. “Drink up. There's more where that came from and we have a pleasant stretch of peaceful evening ahead of us. You can worry about the rest on the morrow.”

Acair wished all his troubles could be dismissed so easily, but perhaps he could think on them later. Sgath brewed a very fine ale and, as he said, there was a pleasant stretch of peaceful evening there in front of him.

He suspected it might be one of the last he would enjoy for quite some time to come.

L
éirsinn wondered how anyone at Lake Cladach accomplished anything with so much beauty to look at every day.

She walked along the shore and looked out over the sparkling water. She could hardly believe that less than a se'nnight ago, she had been doing her usual chores in her uncle's barn, never imagining that another sort of life might ever exist for her.

The other thing she hadn't expected was to have Falaire walking along behind her, nibbling greenery, and looking completely at his ease. While she understood the usefulness of a barn, she couldn't deny that horses looked happiest when wandering about on grass.

It was cool out, but she'd been provided that morning with a bath, clean clothes, and a cloak that was softer than anything she'd ever felt save Falaire's nose. She'd enjoyed a delicious breakfast, then accepted the invitation to make herself at home and perhaps take her pony for a bit of a walk. She had turned him loose on the greensward, then taken herself for a wander near the water.

She had finally sat down on the edge of a dock that stretched out into the lake. It was the stuff of dreams, truly. The sound of the water lapping against the shore, the warmth of the sun on her back, the sight of her horse . . . ah . . .

Shapechanging.

He stood on the grass twenty paces from her, looked at her for
a moment, then tossed his head and disappeared. Or, rather, he sprouted wings, snorted, then leapt up into the air.

And so began a display of, ah, shapechanging that left her gaping. Animals with four feet, things with wings, things with large, terrifying teeth, other creatures that she was perfectly confident came from myth. She climbed up onto the pier because she had to move. She thought better that way. She didn't want to follow where her thoughts were leading, but she realized she simply couldn't deny any longer what she was seeing.

Magic existed.

Perhaps she should have begun to think something was unusual about the fact that Falaire had sprouted wings just outside Beinn òrain. It might have made sense to admit that there were things beyond her ken when she'd come face-to-face with an elvish king. She could have set aside the last of her doubts when she'd listened to a very long list of Acair's accomplishments.

But now, she was faced with unmistakable proof that things were just not as she'd believed them to be—

“You can blame Eulasaid for all that business,” a voice said.

She jumped a little, then realized it was simply Acair's grandfather who had joined her. “Blame your wife?”

“I heard her out here very early this morning, chatting with him.” He tapped his forehead. “That way, you know how it's done. My lady wife has an especial fondness for those of an equine persuasion. Given how sheltered your pony has been over the course of his life, she thought it might be interesting for him to consider a few things he might not have before.”

“Such as how bumblebees fly.”

He laughed. “Exactly that. He seems to have committed himself to a great deal of experimentation.”

“As long as he doesn't do that while I'm on his back, I think I'll just let him have his head.”

“Wise,” Sgath said. He watched Falaire for quite some time, then shook his head in admiration. “He is a magnificent animal.”

“He is,” she agreed. “Even with what I've seen come through my uncle's stables over the years, I've never seen his equal.”

Sgath leaned back against the railing and looked at her. “If you don't mind satisfying my curiosity, you're Fuadain of Sàraichte's niece through what line?”

“My father is his brother,” she said, “and we share a grandfather, though I suppose that's obvious.”

“You might be surprised,” Sgath said with a smile. “The twistings and turnings of some family trees are enough to give pains in the head to even the most strong-stomached of souls. How is it you came to be working in his stables, not lounging in his finest salon?”

“My grandfather requires care,” she said, “and since it is so expensive, I . . .” She shrugged. “I was put to work at the stables immediately after I was sent to my uncle, and I never questioned why.”

“And you didn't question because you want your grandfather to have the best,” Sgath said with a gentle smile. “As is right and proper.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a bit longer until she thought the questions burning in her mouth might just light on fire without any help. She turned to look at him.

“Ah, Lord . . . I mean, Prince . . . er—”

“'Tis just Sgath, Léirsinn,” he said with a smile. “My claim to any throne is so tenuous, I don't think about it very often.”

She studied him. “You were raised in Ainneamh.”

“At the palace,” he agreed. “Lovely place, that.”

“Yet you're here.”

“Quite happily. My bride and I aren't much for fancy trappings.”

Léirsinn would have pointed out to him that his house was the size of a palace, but perhaps he knew that already. He also looked hardly any older than Acair, which she supposed he also knew.

Things were very odd in the world, she was discovering.

She took her courage in hand. “Might I ask you a question or two?”

“Anything.”

She could scarce believe she was going to ask what she intended
to ask, but Sgath seemed a friendly, honest sort. Not that Acair wasn't, of course, but her relationship with him was a bit complicated. His grandfather had no reason to tell her anything but the absolute truth, no matter what she might think of it.

“Do
you
believe in magic?” she asked gingerly.

He smiled. “I can't say I've had much choice in that matter, given my parentage. So, aye, I do believe in magic, but likely because it's all I've known in my life.”

“And you're an elf,” she said. “With elven magic, whatever that is.”

“Ah, the magic of Ainneamh,” he said with a sigh. “Caoireach is strange, and I say that as one who grew to manhood using it. All magic has its own peculiarities, of course. Fadaire—the magic of Tòrr Dòrainn—is so beautiful, one runs the risk of losing one's place in one's spells simply because the words are so mesmerizing. The magic of my ancestors, though—” He considered. “I would call it hard and glittering, a bit like starlight on a cold winter's night. The magic is powerful and the spells very useful, but I've often thought that my relatives have spent so much time over the centuries wrapped up in the admiration of their own magnificent skill that they've lost the knack of it.”

“As out of reach as starlight?”

He smiled. “A good way to put it, though Ehrne will never admit as much. If he were called upon to save the world, he might be able to dredge up a spell or two, but it would be an effort. He fights endlessly with Sìle over a border I suppose he could defend if he had to, but the place is honestly starting to look a bit threadbare. The spells that are there are very old but no one has taken the effort to keep them up. Someday I fear some rogue mage will simply walk across the border and take everything they have.”

“But you have that magic?”

“I do.”

She had to pause and take a deep breath. “And Acair has that magic.”

Sgath nodded. “He does, as it happens. I don't imagine it is the first thing he reaches for, but he has it.”

She suppressed the urge to find somewhere to sit, but since she was leaning against the railing of the dock, she supposed that might be enough for the moment. “Why hasn't he walked across King Ehrne's border to take over that throne, do you suppose? If the world's magic is what he's after.”

“I don't know if he's considered it or not,” Sgath said thoughtfully. “To be honest. I suspect my grandson wouldn't think the crown worth the effort. Ainneamh would be a very expensive prize.” He shrugged. “Acair is, above all I daresay, a pragmatist.”

“He won't play cards at a table where he won't win?”

Sgath smiled. “Perfectly put.”

“He said as much.”

“I'm not surprised.” He watched Falaire for a moment or two, then looked at her. “Anything else I can answer for you?”

“I think I'm overwhelmed enough for the day.”

He laughed a little. “I wouldn't blame you, but you're handling it very well.” He paused, then looked at her kindly. “I understand how it is to believe the world to be a certain way, then find it is entirely different and in ways that are too much to be believed. I suppose that sort of thing inspires a return to bed where one might pull the covers over one's head and hope that upon waking, one might find things as they were the day before.”

She considered, then looked at him searchingly. “Change makes me uneasy.”

“I believe it makes many of us uneasy, my dear,” he said with a smile. “There are always things you can rely on to not change, however, and perhaps that will be enough to help you bear the others.”

“You mean horses that are always only horses?”

“Perhaps that isn't the best example, given your pony's recently discovered talents, but aye, something like that.” He pushed away
from the railing. “I'll leave you to your ruminations. If you want a warm place to relax, my study is perilous only because of the piles of books.” He smiled. “Make yourself at home.”

“I'll put my horse away, then accept that kind offer, if you don't mind. I'd like to look at an atlas.”

“I'll help you catch him before he flutters off anywhere else,” Sgath said, striding away. “Hoy, wait, you blasted horse!”

Léirsinn watched him run off with the energy of a man—well, she had no idea how old he was, but he looked hardly any older than Acair. Elven blood, apparently.

She watched him lead Falaire off to what she knew were luxurious accommodations, then took herself off to find a hot fire and a decent map. Perhaps if she had some idea where she was in the grander scheme of things, she might find the world less overwhelming.

At the very least, she might know what magical countries to avoid.

•   •   •

A
n hour later, she was in Sgath's library determining just that. She supposed if she'd thought about it, she might have realized how large the world was, but she'd never had the time to do so. Her days had been full of barn chores, avoiding her uncle, and hurrying into town to give all her money to a woman who was apparently a witch. The things she hadn't known . . .

Perhaps the most shocking thing at present was realizing how far away from Sàraichte she was already. And to travel even farther to Tor Neroche?

What in the hell was she thinking?

She looked out the window and considered her alternatives, of which there seemed to be only one. She could abandon her current path, a path she had definitely not chosen herself, and return to where she had come from. But if she did, she suspected that, as Acair had said, she wouldn't live to see the end of the following fortnight. She wasn't sure where that left her save being committed to going where she wasn't sure she had the courage to go.

She realized suddenly that she wasn't alone. She turned and saw that Acair was standing at the door, watching her.

“You could have announced yourself,” she said pointedly.

“I was overcome by the color of your hair.”

And she was overcome by the sight of his face, but she thought that might be something she could remain silent about. “You may leave off with the ridiculing of my hair, thank you very much.”

“It is actually rather glorious, like fire.” He shrugged. “I would wax poetic about it, but then you would be ridiculing me.”

She leaned back against a table. “Well, if you're going to make the attempt, it seems that the least I can do is listen.”

He started to speak, then shook his head. “I'm not sure I am equal to it at the moment. When I've come up with something appropriately lyrical, I'll let you know.” He paused. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not. This is your grandparents' library, after all.”

“And I've never once been in their home, so we're on equal footing.”

She supposed he had a point there. She picked up a book she had been thinking to have a look at, found herself a chair by a window, and sat down to read. The only problem was that the words did nothing but swim in front of her, so she finally gave up and shut her book. It wasn't as if she would have been able to concentrate anyway.

The dungeons of the palace of Ainneamh had been perhaps a less-than-comfortable place to think about anything but staying warm, but now that she had a hot fire and a decent seat, she had the time and comfort to consider all the things she hadn't been able to before.

She was, from what a cursory glance at a map had told her, hundreds of leagues from Sàraichte. She had no money, no weapon, and no decent clothing save what she'd been given that morning. She had left behind her a defenseless grandfather, her life's savings, and a nobleman who wanted her dead.