Free Forging the Runes by Josepha Sherman Page B

unmistakable—as was the unexpected cloud of misery shrouding the man. Ardagh brushed back his hair, straightened his rumpled clothing and, face composed into a mask of Sidhe calm (even though, he jibed at himself, the human probably couldn't see him in the darkness) called: "Enter."
    The door swung open. Cadwal stood in the entrance, peering into what, to him, would have seemed total blackness. "Prince Ardagh?"
    "Of course."
    "I . . . ah . . . thought you might be still awake. Hoped you were, anyhow. I wouldn't dream of disturbing you, particularly not at this hour, but . . ."
    "But you have some trouble weighing you down. And obviously it's nothing you can share with a priest—or with King Aedh—or you would already have done so. Come inside, man, and shut the door."
    Since Cadwal couldn't very well see what Ardagh was doing, the prince didn't bother looking for flint and steel, but lit an oil lamp with a simple flick of will, blinking in momentary discomfort as the sudden small flare of light burned at his darkness-adjusted sight. The flame quickly settled down to a steady little yellow glow, and Ardagh gestured to the room's other chair. Cadwal sat as warily as though he expected the thing to suddenly sprout fangs, and Ardagh fought down a sigh and asked, "Why come to me?"
    "Because . . . oh hell, this sounds ridiculous and I wouldn't blame you for throwing me out, but . . . do you have a spell or something that lets a man sleep without dreams?"
    "A spell!" That, Ardagh thought, feigned astonishment nicely. "What makes you think I would know such a thing?"
    The mercenary shrugged, a little too casually. "Hell, I don't know. Just that . . . you being so foreign, the ways of your land being so strange . . ."
    So foreign. You know, don't you? You know on some deep inner level what I am, and don't want to accept that you know. Ae, humans. "Dreams," Ardagh said without expression. "Foul ones, I assume."
    "Very. I know," Cadwal added fiercely, "it's a weakness, but it's one I damn well can't afford. And before you ask, yes, I did try going to priests and all that, but I don't dare let everyone know I'm getting soft or—"
    "Anyone," Ardagh cut in, "may suffer from disturbed sleep." Particularly a human who has led such a harsh life. "It's hardly a sign of failure."
    "But—"
    "But I certainly agree with you: The leader of the High Kings mercenary band can't afford to be weakened by lack of rest."
    His very matter-of-factness seemed to be more soothing to the human than any soft words might have been; Ardagh saw not a muscle twitch in Cadwal's weatherworn face, but the faintest spark of hope flickered in the mercenary's eyes. "Then . . . you can help?"
    Ardagh hesitated, considering. "No one may be totally without dreams," he said at last, which was certainly the truth. "And I can promise nothing." Which is undeniably true as well. "But . . ." Ha, he'd found the memory he'd been hunting. "Yes, I do know a charm for sweet sleep. Something even a . . ." human ". . . a man not of Cathay can perform."
    It was a very basic spell, a charm taught to every Sidhe child. Whether or not a magickless human could get it to work . . . who knew? But the charm required no special movements, no surge of Power, and Cadwal couldn't possibly do himself any harm.
    Besides, even if the magic isn't sparked into life, the thing still might work by the simple power of suggestion.
    Cadwal was a quick study. It took only the shortest of time before the words were set in his mind. He started to stammer out thanks, but Ardagh, all at once embarrassed at the human's embarrassment, shook his head. Deliberately brusque, he said, "The hour is late. I wish to sleep."
    That was true enough. But once he was alone again, the prince sat musing over what had just happened.
    Ah well. Humans had such self-tormenting minds. Not surprising that some long-buried horror or sense of guilt might unexpectedly spring up to torment a dreamer.
    Then why