The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(95)

What he didn’t understand, as the morning turned into afternoon, was why the hell he’d spent so much time not paying any heed to his surroundings. He realized with a start that he should have been concentrating on what was going on behind him instead of who was riding beside him.

A clutch of black mages in flight. He recognized the type.

They were hardly past Chagailt, not that anyone there would have let him inside the doors anyway, but at least it would have been some sort of shelter. As it was, they were simply flying over the endless plains of Neroche, completely out in the open, perfectly visible to anyone who cared to look up.

Damn it anyway.

He looked at Léirsinn. “We’re in trouble,” he shouted over the wind.

“Why?” she asked, obviously startled.

He nodded back over his shoulder. He would have warned her not to look, but it was too late. He had no idea how many there were, but he would have guessed a dozen at least. That alone surprised him. It wasn’t as if he had anything anyone wanted—

Was it?

Perhaps putting his foot in that shadow had stirred up a great deal more trouble than he’d thought.

Either that, or some busybody—Ehrne of Ainneamh came immediately to mind—had sent word to as many vile mages as he could that Acair was out in the open without his usual protections to hand.

Good hell, it was just impossible to move about as a normal mage with his past that trailed after him like sparks. Unfortunately what was trailing after those mesmerizing sparks was a burgeoning cloud of blackness that was rapidly darkening the sky.

It occurred to him with a startling flash of clarity that he had seen the beginnings of that storm the night before as he’d stood in Hearn’s courtyard. More the fool was he for not having paid better heed to it.

“What are they doing?” Léirsinn exclaimed.

“Theatrics,” Acair said succinctly.

He would know. He’d done the same thing hundreds of times. Black mages were pompous gits, there was no getting around that.

Unfortunately, whoever those lads behind him were, they were very good at several things not limited to a showy display. He might not have been able to use his magic, but he had two perfectly good eyes and a nose for all kinds of untoward things. That cloud of mage was gaining on him rapidly, more rapidly than a group of neophytes would have managed. He didn’t have the patience to try to identify them, but he supposed that didn’t matter. If they caught up, they would first slay Léirsinn, then they would take him off to places he wouldn’t want to go, do things to him he wouldn’t like, then watch him as he enjoyed a lingering, painful death.

He knew. He’d watched it be done. Whether or not he’d done it himself was something he didn’t think was particularly useful to bring to mind at the moment.

He considered his mount, who was wearing a modest but rather fierce-looking pegasus shape, then wondered what else the horse might be willing to do. He wasn’t quite sure how to communicate that query, so he thought perhaps a gentle suggestion might be a good place to start.

“We’re going to have to go faster, you demon steed,” he bellowed.

Sianach paused in mid-flap, leaving Acair wondering if the damned beast was in league with those lads behind him. Then his mount tossed his head and showed Acair a mental image of an evil intention speeding across countries as quickly as a piece of palace gossip.

“I’ll be damned,” Acair said in surprise. He looked at Léirsinn and held out his hand. “Jump.”

“What?” she squeaked. “Are you mad?”

“Jump,” he said impatiently. “Sianach will go very fast. Bring your horse along.”

If there was one thing that could be said without reservation about that horse-mad gel, it was that she didn’t lack courage. She pulled her feet out of her stirrups and jumped. She almost knocked him off his own mount, truth be told, but he managed to catch her and keep his seat. Barely. Falaire had to struggle to keep up with them, then he seemed to gather himself together for a final bit of a change. Léirsinn scarce managed to catch him as he flung himself toward them in the solid shape of a lovely little pewter pony. Eulasaid’s influence, obviously. Well, if nothing else, they could throw him very hard at someone and perhaps leave a mark.

“Hold on,” Acair managed as he felt Sianach gather himself for a bit of equine magic.

And that was the last thing he said for quite some time.

He would have to give Léirsinn as much credit as possible. She didn’t scream or faint and she would have been justified with either. He had no idea what Sianach considered himself at present, but it was something only slightly more substantial than horse-shaped air. His speed was terrifying and Acair thought he might be qualified to judge that given that he was someone who had craved speed like another might crave sweet wine after supper. He shifted Léirsinn toward him and tried to wrap his cloak around her to cut some of the wind. It was hopeless, of course, but she didn’t complain.

It turned into a perfectly horrible afternoon, even by his very low standards of comfort acceptable whilst being chased by mages with his death on their minds. Sianach was nothing short of spectacular and Acair supposed he might have to do more than what he’d promised Hearn in order to properly repay him.

“They’re gaining on us!”

Acair looked over his shoulder and realized she spoke the truth. He swore, then looked down to see where they were. He could hardly believe they had come so far north so quickly, but there was no denying the lay of the land, as it were. He supposed without words was Sianach’s preferred way of communications, so he asked—