And then Sarah realized that all that had come before was just a skirmish before the true battle began. The board disappeared, and it was just Ruith and Soilléir facing each other, fighting with spells.
Rùnach stepped in front of her suddenly.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asked rather breathlessly.
“Protecting you,” he said faintly, “though I’m not sure with what.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “I thought I’d best attempt something as not.”
She peeked around his shoulder, then took her courage in hand and moved to stand next to him where she could see a bit better. “Soilléir won’t kill him, will he?”
“I don’t think so,” Rùnach said, sounding none too sure about that, “but I suspect my wee brother might wish he had after they’ve had done with their sport.”
Sarah swallowed with difficulty. “Why is Soilléir doing this?”
“Why do you think?”
Sarah imagined she could come up with several reasons if she gave it enough thought. Perhaps Soilléir thought to test Ruith’s resolve, or strength, or ability to encounter spells that made her flinch when she saw them being flung his way. In the end, she decided that Soilléir was hell-bent on showing Ruith just where he was lacking.
She also decided, after what had to have been half an hour of spectacle, that it was going to be a very long afternoon. She fetched her loom’s bench, then sat down and offered Rùnach the other half of it. He considered, then went to procure a bottle and two glasses. He poured wine for them both and handed her a glass before he sat down. Sarah watched the skirmish for a bit longer in silence, then looked up at Ruith’s brother.
His face bore marks that could have come from falling against unyielding stone, but surely Soilléir could have healed those well enough. Perhaps they were trails of something left behind by his father stealing his magic.
Odd how her arm bore the same sort of wound.
She looked into Rùnach’s eyes and smiled. “A sister and a pair of brothers,” she said quietly. “I’m glad for you.”
“Family is a good thing,” he agreed. He nodded toward Ruith. “He has become everything our mother would have wished for him, despite his years masquerading as a curmudgeon.”
“He wasn’t happy about giving up the disguise,” Sarah said with a smile, “but I think he needed to. Not, of course, that I know him well enough to judge that.” She shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just an observation.”
“An apt one,” he agreed. He studied his brother for several minutes in silence. “Whatever else he’s done, he’s become a good swordsman.”
Sarah had to agree. Though Ruith was using spells and not a blade, he moved as if he parried steel and fought as if he’d had a sword in his hands. She supposed he might think differently, but to her eye, the years of defending himself with his hands alone and no doubt looking for weaknesses in opponents that might not have been plain to a mage’s eye had certainly not harmed him any.
Soilléir flinched at a particularly pointed spell he had to stretch to counter, then laughed. “Damn you, Ruith, what spells didn’t you filch?”
“I told you my library was extensive,” Ruith said, his chest heaving.
“Aye, well, so is mine,” Soilléir said.
Rùnach sighed lightly. “Ruith is in for it now.”
Sarah couldn’t bring herself to speculate on what he might have meant by that. She was far too busy watching Soilléir throw apparently more than the usual complement of spells at Ruith. They began as swarms of beelike things that Ruith countered easily enough, then changed to mighty winds, which Ruith fought off much less easily, then enormous waves that beat down on him, which left him finally on his knees, simply struggling to fight off Soilléir’s attack with an ever-weakening magic of his own.
And then Soilléir cast a spell of Olc over him.
Sarah watched it, shocked at its vileness—and that was saying something given the rather gory battle she’d just witnessed. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Ruith had caught it, then thrown it back accompanied by a spell of some sort of terrible harm.
He didn’t. He simply watched it fall over him, obviously exhausted by the battle, then with a single word sent it scattering in shards that slid across the floor to encounter Soilléir’s spell of ... well, Sarah wouldn’t have called it protection. Containment, perhaps. Then again, what did she know? It had kept their battle within its confines and