Spellweaver Read Online Free Page B

seemed less interested in her, though, than he was in his brother. He shoved her out of his way and walked into the firelight.
    “What are you doing here?” Táir demanded.
    His brother looked at him as if he’d lost his wits. “Looking for Ruithneadh. What else would I be doing?”
    “Waiting behind like a woman until I’ve taken what’s mine,” Táir snarled. “Perhaps, Mosach, you forget your place.”
    “And perhaps you forget to think,” the brother named Mosach said with a snort. “If you wanted Ruithneadh’s power, you should have taken it earlier whilst Díolain was distracted with that whoreson who brought the bloody hall down around our ears. Not that you could have taken anything but his pocket handkerchief with your patched-together incarnation of Father’s spell—”
    “Then I’ll have your power instead,” Táir said hotly. “And hers.”
    Sarah realized he was pointing at her. She wanted to quickly reassure him that she had nothing he could possibly want, but she couldn’t find breath to speak.
    “She has no power,” Mosach said.
    Sarah nodded, no doubt more enthusiastically than she should have.
    “Are you daft?” Táir demanded. “She sees .”
    Mosach started to speak, then shut his mouth abruptly. “How do you know?”
    “Because I have two good eyes and use them now and again!”
    Mosach looked at her with renewed interest. Sarah started to give voice to the strangled noises of denial she could feel bubbling up in her throat, but before she could, a kerfuffle of sorts distracted the brothers. The traders, those cold-eyed, heartless lads, had apparently decided that they were more interested in their lives than a bit of gold.
    A pity they made so much noise when they fled.
    Sarah didn’t dare turn and flee as well—having just seen what that would earn her, which was instant death—but she wasn’t above easing a single step backward so she was standing next to the tree. The bark was rough under her fingers, a solid reminder that there were things in the world that were still as she would have expected to find them. It was a rather comforting contrast to the battle of spells that had begun in front of her.
    Ruith’s brothers, robbed of their sport with the traders, had turned on each other instead. Mosach was apparently every bit Táir’s equal in whatever unwholesome magical studies they’d engaged in over the years, and both of them seemed to have fury to spare.
    She would have moved, but every now and again, one of the brothers would cast a look her way, a look that said they were perfectly aware of where she was. She had no doubt they would hunt her down if necessary.
    Or perhaps not. As the minutes dragged on, their curses and spells became less frequent and a calm descended over the glade. There came a point where they were simply standing there in the flickering firelight, glaring at each other, completely immobile. The spells they had cast were wrapped around each other, as if they had been bobbins in the hands of a master weaver of things no one could see.
    Only she could see the spells.
    She held her breath, then slowly and very carefully took a step backward.
    Then another.
    The brothers didn’t seem to notice—not, perhaps, that they could have done anything about it had they noticed. She eased back into the darkness in absolute silence, grateful for all the practice she’d had at it over the years.
    Once she was certain she could no longer be seen, she turned and strode away swiftly. Or she would have, if she hadn’t walked into horses she hadn’t realized were collected together so closely behind her, contentedly crunching on the underbrush.
    She closed her eyes briefly in gratitude. Surely no one would begrudge her a means of escape given that the beasts’ masters wouldn’t be needing them anymore. She started to select a pair of them, then realized she would only be needing one.
    Because Ruith was dead.
    But he couldn’t be. She had seen him the day