She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but with Uachdaran of Léige, she just didn’t know.
Five
Acair walked through passageways he’d previously skulked along with little thought for anything besides how to most efficiently help himself to a few of Uachdaran of Léige’s best spells. He was going to need a proper rumination on all the things he had—and hadn’t—managed to abscond with, but perhaps that could be put off a bit longer. At the moment, he was too busy trying to remember if the twists and turns they were making led to the king’s dungeon or somewhere worse.
He felt Léirsinn squeeze his hand. Either she was trying to bolster his courage or she was preparing to give him a bit of comfort before he met his doom. He didn’t ask her for the particulars. He had enough of his own dark thoughts to keep him occupied for the moment.
The king seemed to know where he was going in spite of the unrelenting gloom. Unsurprising. The old bastard was likely far more familiar with the dark paths lying beneath his hall than he cared to admit. Whether he only found gems there, not spells, only he would know.
Acair had his suspicions.
He’d had a quick look in the king’s private books to try to verify the same, of course, but that had been decades ago when he’d been a bit more cavalier about someone else’s ability to do him in. He’d only once managed to nip in and out of the king’s private solar—an evening full of memories he absolutely didn’t want to relive if possible—and he’d lingered in the king’s library for a pair of hours. He’d made the proverbial beeline for the nastiest and most perilous pieces of the king’s collection and hadn’t been disappointed in what he’d found there.
Dwarves had strong stomachs for shadows, to be sure.
He preferred even his most evil of spells to come with a bit of elegance, but that didn’t seem to be the case in Durial. Rough-edged, efficient, brutal things were apparently their preferred way of doing business, which he supposed he understood. No wonder Ceannairceach of Durial had wanted to escape, though he wasn’t entirely certain living a life of exile was any better, particularly when that life was being lived with that absurd Baoth of Tòrr Dòrainn.
But, to each his own, he supposed. The king’s daughter would spend her life with an elf who couldn’t keep away from the nearest polished looking glass, and he would, with any luck, spend his in front of a hot fire, drinking exquisite wine and admiring the equally beautiful Léirsinn of Sàraichte.
Truly, he was a simple man with simple needs.
The king came to an abrupt halt. Acair nodded knowingly to himself over that. No conversation, no putting guests at ease with social niceties, just a sudden stop in front of a rough-hewn wall where death no doubt lingered on the other side. Whether it would come by sword or spell, he didn’t know. Given that what lay on the other side of that wall might well be worse, he thought he might prefer to remain out in the passageway.
Uachdaran looked at him coolly. “Come inside.”
“I’d rather not—”
“I don’t give a damn what you want!”
That was certainly a sentiment he’d heard far too often over the past several months, but there seemed to be no escape from it quite yet. He steeled himself for entering what he wasn’t entirely certain wouldn’t be some sort of torture chamber and nodded his head with as much grace as he could muster.
The king made use of a rather ordinary and—thankfully—unmagical latch and pushed the heavy wooden door open. He walked in first, which Acair appreciated, then beckoned for them to follow, which Acair wasn’t entirely sure he was going to enjoy. He followed, though, because he supposed it might at least buy him a bit of time to determine the best way to continue to avoid the gallows.
Or perhaps that would be unnecessary.
The chamber sprang to life with lights that were more otherworldly than anything he had seen during a lifetime of gazing at impossibly beautiful things. The walls glowed with a light that whilst retaining every color imaginable—and some he couldn’t put a name to but would definitely investigate if given the chance—seemed to focus their efforts in a pale yellowish sort of business that looked a bit like mid-morning. Light fell from the ceiling as well, more sparkling and beautiful than anything ever produced by the finest of chandeliers created by the glass-smiths of Obair-ghloinne. The floor remained discreetly unlit, which he appreciated given that he might have hesitated to walk over it otherwise.
Léirsinn was gaping at the chamber with what Acair assumed was a mirror of his own expression. She looked at him and simply shook her head in wonder. He nodded slightly in agreement, then turned to the king.
“A spectacular hall, Your Majesty,” he said sincerely.
“My lists,” the king said. “I suggest a bit of exercise here.”
Acair wondered how he might manage to extricate himself from the like without losing his head in the process. Whilst he wasn’t at all opposed to a morning of lively sparring with both spell and sword, the thought of facing the intimidating dwarf-king of Durial whilst bumbling about as a mere mortal gave him pause.
“Alas,” he said, putting as much regret into his tone as possible, “I have no sword. I would, of course, be positively thrilled to admire even the least of what might come from your spectacular forge.”
“Spells,” the king said succinctly. “We’ll bring our best to the fray and see who survives.”
Acair was terribly torn. The chance to look over what he was certain would be a veritable feast of the king’s finest, encouraging the king to blurt out each one and memorizing them as they left the hoary-headed monarch’s bearded lips? The thought was enough to leave any mage worth his pointy hat a bit breathless. He had certainly learned more that way than from even the most thorough rummage through the private hosiery cabinets of king and mage alike. Unfortunately, he knew where giving voice to even the simplest spell would leave him, which made demurring a very bitter business indeed.
“I am simply crushed,” Acair managed, “to decline your very generous offer.” He pointed to the death-dispensing spell half-draped over his shoulder. “This lad here keeps me on my best, non-magical behavior.”
The king didn’t spare the beast even the briefest glance. “Do you honestly believe I cannot contain that wee thing there? How do you think the ceilings stay up in my mines?”
Acair had honestly never considered that anything magical might be involved in that, though he certainly hoped it was more than spells keeping everything from caving in on itself.
“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,” he said slowly.
“No trouble at all,” the king replied. “It would be a pleasure to see just how much pain you can endure without weeping.”