He pulled up short at the sight of the gates squatting there in front of him, sooner than he’d expected. He propped Mansourah up against a wall, then peered around the corner at the stables. Léirsinn looked over his shoulder and caught her breath.
“Mages,” she said.
He smiled in spite of himself. “You’ve become suspicious.”
“At any other time,” she murmured, “I would have thought them only ordinary travelers. Tonight, I find myself looking at any man hiding behind the shadows of a hood with a jaundiced eye and an immediate suspicion of their potential for magic-making.”
“Very wise,” Acair agreed, then hardly managed to catch himself before Mansourah’s hand on his shoulder almost sent him sprawling.
“Your sort of lads?” Mansourah said hoarsely.
“They could only dream of it,” Acair said without hesitation. “It does present something of a problem for me at the moment, however, given that I’m not at liberty to engage them.”
“I could try to attract their notice, then lead them astray.”
“Subversion,” Acair said approvingly. “Look at you, lad, walking in less than fastidious paths.”
“Crawling along them, you mean,” Mansourah said faintly. “I’m not sure what would be left of me if I shapechanged at the moment.” He leaned heavily on Acair’s shoulder. “You certainly disturbed a few unpleasant sorts here.”
“I’m beginning to think so,” Acair agreed. More interesting still would be finding out who those men were, but he supposed that pleasure would need to wait for a bit.
“How fast can your pony go?” Mansourah asked.
Acair glanced at his wounded companion. “Faster than a princess of Meith running from tidings of your arrival to court her.”
Mansourah looked at him with a bit more warmth than perhaps the moment merited. Warmth, fury, who could tell the difference in the gloom?
He looked back at the lay of the land and wondered how bestto proceed. It was, as he’d noted several times recently, extremely inconvenient to move about as a mere mortal. If he’d been at liberty to do what he did best, he would have stridden out into the courtyard of the stables, fought a delightful little duel with those lads there—singly or in a group, as it suited them—then swept off as a bitter, screeching wind toward the promise of more mischief in another place.
As it was, he could only be appallingly grateful, if not a little surprised, when his horse landed on his free shoulder and nipped at his ear.
He sighed. Some things never changed.
Sianach, that sterling fellow, hopped down to the ground, then changed his shape into a rather slim but eminently terrifying black dragon. Acair caught his eye before he spewed out a bit of fire in the wrong direction, then made a hasty decision.
“You and Léirsinn go,” he said to Mansourah without hesitation. “I’ll follow.”
Léirsinn looked gratifyingly horrified. “On foot?”
“I’ve done it before,” he said cheerfully. “You go on and keep our injured princeling from falling to his death. I’m guessing he can find my mother’s house and keep you covered in a useful spell of concealment, even with his wounded wing.”
“Your mother’s house,” Mansourah said, almost soundlessly. “I thought you were making a poor jest.”
“She’s a very competent healer,” Acair said, “as well as one who sets a delightful table for supper. As long as you check her spells before she uses them on you or slips them into your tea, you’ll be fine. Off you go, lad. Léirsinn, don’t let him fall.”
If he expected an argument, he didn’t get one. What he did have for his trouble, however, was a brief peck on the cheek from Léirsinn and the same attempt made by Mansourah. And damnthat bloody middle child of the fierce and irreverent maker of inappropriate jests Desdhemar of Neroche if he didn’t simply laugh and hop up on Sianach’s back with only a minor groan. Acair watched Léirsinn clamber up onto Sianach’s scaly self, then send him a look full of meaning. He supposed since the gloom was so complete, he could read into that look anything he liked.
He scarce managed to duck before Sianach heaved himself up into the sky with a shriek that should have woken half the city. That horse-turned-dragon spewed out a fierce blast of fire in the direction of that vexatious clutch of mages, causing a handful of them to frantically strip off their cloaks and beat the flames into the dirt. Acair watched his companions disappear under a spell of un-noticing and felt a rather unwholesome wave of relief wash over him. They were away and safe. He could hardly ask for anything more.
He was momentarily distracted by a bag of something dropped at his feet—onhis foot, rather. He picked it up and hefted it experimentally. He had a look inside as well, because he was a suspicious bastard and it wouldn’t have surprised him at all to have found that the traveling funds Mansourah had obviously left for him were nothing but useless blanks. They were actually Nerochian gold sovereigns that certainly bit as though they were the genuine item, so he tied the purse to his belt and strode out into the courtyard.
Someone had thoughtfully lit a lamp or two, which he supposed would aid him in what he intended to do. He realized with a bit of a start that one of the men carrying a lantern was glaring at that equally irritated group of mages with a fair bit of enthusiasm and that the man was accompanied by a serving maid who was also holding up a light.
He thought it might be a reflection of the state of his life at present that he hadn’t noticed either of them before.
Well, their arrival hadn’t left him as much leisure as he might have liked, so he took matters into his own hands right away.
“The king’s book of spells,” he shouted, holding the thing up. He waited until all of them were looking at him—and recognizing him apparently—before he hurled the book over their heads with as much force as possible.
