The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(11)

“You could go away, you know,” Acair said pointedly.

The spell only tilted its head and regarded him. Acair rolled his eyes, cursed a bit to make himself feel less like a fool than he already did for talking to nothing, then tugged on his cloak and marched off into the fray.

He knew exactly where he was going, where he was intended to go rather, because a breathless lad had caught him up at a derelict pub a pair of nights ago and told him as much. He had refrained from telling the lad where Soilléir could take himself off to and what he could do with himself once there simply because he hadn’t wanted to cause the lad to forgo paying for their supper. It had been painful to watch that envoy eventually scamper off toward the road, then change himself into something with wings without so much as a sigh of exertion.

Acair sighed presently because he’d forced himself not to then. Truly, it was going to be a very long year.

He continued on his way with another sigh, asked the first soul he encountered where he might find the stables of Briàghde, and was somehow unsurprised to find that not only were they on the far side of town, they were a great distance past the far side of town. The only way it could have been more inconvenient would have been if he’d had to march through a wall of irritated mages with terrible spells to hand to get there.

It might behoove him, he decided reluctantly, not to alert anyone in the area as to his arrival. He refused to think about the fact that if someone he’d encountered before encountered him, things might become a bit dodgy. He had survived more dire situations than that and come away unscathed. Still, no sense in putting his foot in a pile of trouble if he didn’t have to.

He purchased food on his way through town, trying not to shudder at the potential for untoward substances having found their way inside what he’d eaten, then found himself all too soon on the far side of town, looking at a manor he never would have lowered himself to frequent in the past without formidable inducement. He was halfway to the front door before he realized that he wasn’t heading toward the right place.

He sighed, then turned away and followed his nose to the stables. They were, when smelled from the outside, rather less fragrant than other stables he’d been to, though he supposed he might not be the best one to judge. He looked for a likely opening for humans, took a deep breath, then walked in with what he hoped was an appropriately servile mien.

He stopped short and stared at his surroundings in shock. Good lord, horses. He could easily see a dozen of them and that was just from where he was standing.

They were looking at him as if he might make a tasty morsel to enjoy over the course of the afternoon, that much he could see right off. He didn’t like horses as a rule, though he supposed the quality of steeds his father had kept had been very low. His only other experience with them had been hiding in their stalls whilst about some piece of mischief or another. He had discovered rather quickly that they didn’t like that sort of thing.

“Help you?”

Acair looked at a small, wiry man who had simply appeared out of thin air. He would have suspected the other of magic, but could sense none of it in him. Perhaps he was just canny.

“I’m looking for—” He had to take a deep breath before he could carry on. “Work.”

“What can you do?”

That was a list worthy of lengthy examination, to be sure, but Acair wasn’t sure the ability to pick any lock he faced, a deft hand at fleecing any card player he encountered, or the possession of magic that gave even the most powerful pause would be of any interest to the man standing in front of him.

“Whatever you need,” Acair said. He wasn’t exactly sure how much confidence to display, so he settled for what he thought Rùnach might look like when faced with one of those damned dreamspinners his wife kept company with. “If it isn’t too difficult.”

The man looked him over for a minute, then held out his hand. “Doghail.”

Acair assumed that was his name, not what he did for a living, so he shook the man’s hand and nodded. “Acair.”

Doghail nodded. “Had a missive from one of your former employers this morning.”

Acair could only imagine. He gathered from Doghail’s expression that it hadn’t been anything too damning, so perhaps ’twas best to simply not ask too many questions.

“From whence do you hail?” Doghail asked.

“I’ve traveled so much, ’tis hard to say.”

Doghail studied him more closely than Acair was comfortable with. “Any experience working with horses?”

“I’ve ridden a pair of them,” Acair conceded.

“That doesn’t sound too promising.”

Perhaps that recommendation had been less flattering than he’d supposed. He could hardly believe he was having to peddle himself to a man he would have walked past without noticing in any other situation, but perhaps that was simply part of the bargain. He had done worse.

“I am honest,” he said, latching onto his one virtue. “If that’s worth anything to you.”

Doghail lifted his eyebrows briefly. “You might be surprised. And aye, ’tis enough. Fortunately for you, the master came through in a temper recently and sacked half the lads because they dared meet his eyes. You might keep that in mind for the future.”

Acair had no idea who the master was, but he didn’t like him already. What sort of pompous blowhard walked through a place and terrorized those who dared look at—