She stopped Sianach when they were just outside the gates, sitting in such darkness that Acair wondered if that spell of the king’s would be necessary.
“Where to now?”
He took a deep breath and hoped he wouldn’t come to regret their destination.
“Home.”
Eight
Léirsinn followed Acair through the woods and wondered if his brothers had ever managed to outrun him. Not only was he perfectly silent, he was relentlessly swift. She had perfected the art of being silent and unmarked, but she thought she might have met her match in haste.
She suspected he wasn’t keen on the idea of being out in the wilds east of Durial without protection, which she appreciated. They had been covered by the king’s spell of un-noticing as Sianach had bolted across the sky wearing only the faintest suggestion of dragonshape, though it had vanished once they’d put foot to ground again. Acair had remarked with only the lightest of sighs that the king certainly wouldn’t want them unseen by the nymphs who controlled the rivers.
Sianach had disappeared, no doubt off to hunt for a late supper, and she had been perfectly happy to follow in Acair’s footsteps. It hadn’t taken long before she realized that what she was hearing hadn’t been thunder, it was the rushing of mighty waters.
No wonder the king couldn’t sleep.
Acair stopped so suddenly that she almost ran him over. He caught her by the arm to keep her from going sprawling, then held her until she was steady on her feet. She nodded her thanks, then looked out into a clearing that was large enough to have grazed one horse quite comfortably for a pair of hours. Beyond that seemed to lay the source of all the noise. She supposed there was at least one mighty river coming from the mountains and rushing over falls, though perhaps several met for a moment, then went their various ways.
She first thought that the gloom was less in that glade because of the mist reflecting even just the starlight, but she realized quite suddenly that it had everything to do with the man standing there.
Nay, not man, but an elf—and a king, by the look of the crown atop his snowy head.
The king caught sight of Acair and gasped. Léirsinn would have glanced at Acair, but she realized moving was going to be very unwise. The glint of a sword not a hand’s breadth in front of her face was proof enough of that. Obviously there was a previous relationship between the monarch in front of her and the man beside her, though she didn’t dare speculate on what it might entail. She watched the king doff his crown and clutch it with both hands which she supposed rendered that speculation unnecessary.
“You,” he snarled.
“I’m beginning to wonder if anyone ever remembers my name,” Acair muttered, then he stepped in front of her and started to make the crown-clutching monarch a bow. A different sword flashed silver in front of him before he could.
“Dionadair, leave it,” the king said. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing to this disgusting worker of vile magic myself.”
Léirsinn stepped in front of Acair out of habit. To his credit, he took her gently by the arm, pulled her back to stand behind him, then made the king a very small, very careful bow.
“King Sìle,” he said politely, “my most abject and heartfelt apologies.”
“For what?” the king snapped. “You’ve wreaked so much havoc across the whole of the world, I doubt you can remember what mischief you made within my borders!”
Léirsinn thought the king might have a point there. She eased forward to stand next to Acair, then felt his ever-present shadow wedge itself between them, its arms around their shoulders. She didn’t blame Acair for dealing it a firm elbow in its non-existent gut, but it remained unfazed.
“I will provide you with a list of offenses at my earliest opportunity,” Acair said, “and apologize for each in turn. Until that time, if I might present my companion, Léirsinn of Sàraichte. Léirsinn, His Majesty, King Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn.”
She started to make him her best curtsey, then she actually heard the name Acair had said.
“Oh,” she said, feeling her mouth then drop open. Only good sense stopped her from blurting out that she remembered that Acair’s father had wed the youngest of a certain King Sìle’s five daughters. She imagined the king in front of her could finish that tale well enough.
“And his lovely guard captain,” Acair continued, “Dionadair of Tòrr Dòrainn. Also various and sundry other elven warriors of unimpeachable bravery, courage, and beauty—”
“Oh, shut up,” the king grumbled. “Why are you here?”
“I am—”
“About some mischief, no doubt,” the king interrupted. He paused, then frowned a bit more. “Why do you have that magic, mistress? And why are you keeping company with that bastard there?”
Léirsinn realized the king was speaking to her. It then occurred to her that he was asking about the business in her veins that seemed to have perked up as if it had sensed some other sort of magic that it recognized. She supposed she wasn’t surprised for even she could see what was sparkling in the air around the elven king.
“Ah,” she said, trying to invent something on the spot that would save them from another trip to a different dungeon, “the tale is long and very interesting, but the shortened telling of it amounts to the fact that my lord Acair is off to do heroic deeds and put a stop to a vile and pervasive evil. I have come along to help him as I may.”
There. That sounded reasonable as well as a bit like something Acair would have said. She was starting to understand why he spewed out so many compliments and apologies when meeting those who might want to put a sword through him first and ask about his intentions later.
