Page 21 of Darach

“’Tis on you to arrange that match, Brother.” The war master spun his staff in his hands, feigning a show before he tried to sweep Darach’s feet out from under him. The loud clack of the staffs colliding came as he blocked the blow. “Camdyn doesnae wish serve in the forge. Never shall he.”

This again, he thought, growing angry now.

“I didnae beg the laird choose me his second, nor ever once wish to command the garrison.” He twirled the staff to fend off two more blows, and the wood spun so fast it blurred in the air. “Aye, and I’d be in the forge now if Luthias had named me armorer, and no doubt happier. Only I’ve no’ Camdyn’s skill with smithing, and you ken as much.”

Taveon dodged a hit. “You reckon forging, ’tis the lad’s only talent?”

“Ask Luthias why he chose as he did,” Darach countered. “Well-forged weapons, they’re as vital to the clan as commanding the men. We each of us serve where we do best for our brothers and the vassals.”

Going on the offensive, he used the ends of the staff to drive Taveon backward. When the war master countered the move by spinning to one side Darach retreated, watching his brother’s pale face as they circled each other again.

“You’re ten times as fast now,” Taveon said. “Your control, ’tis as good as ’twas before the sain empowered you. Yet I’ll wager ’tis a price to such.”

“I ken ever you’ve favored Camdyn over me, and yet never once took you his side over mine.” Darach slammed his staff into the war master’s, knocking it from his grip. “’Tis why I respect you.”

“Just as I ken should you truly lose your temper you’d likely kill Camdyn.” He glanced down at the wood Darach had pressed to his knee. “I’d rather yield than limp for the rest of summer. May I?” He held out his hand, and when he gave him the staff he ran his palm along the length of it. “Your gift, ’tis no’ without cost, Chieftain.”

Darach repeated his gesture, and where he touched the wood it seemed very hot, as if it meant to burst into flame. “’Tisnae from enchantment, surely.”

“’Tis the speed of your movements. The staff becomes a spindle, and the air and my staff act against it as a hearth board. Had we sparred longer, I reckon the wood, ’twould have begun smoldering.” Taveon examined the length of the staff. “What of your hands and body? Your skin, ’tis feverish?”

“No.” He’d barely worked up a sweat. “If I must, I shall fight only with steel. ’Twillnae melt.”

“Dinnae spar with the lads until you’ve mastered control over this quickness. You cannae see your own moves, and may break bones before you realize how hard you’ve struck.” The war master picked up his staff. “Camdyn shall use Mistress Walsh to bait you. You shouldnae notice his jigging nor swallow his hook, for the lady may end the one entangled.”

“Aye.” Darach dragged a hand through his hair. “Ken you the true cause, then?”

“I suspect ’tis Ailsa MacAnvoy, made worse when she refused to wed the Tolmach,” Taveon said, looking grim now. “Luthias shall say naught, but she didnae break the betrothal because Laith’s a stinking old man with a big gob and a wee tadger. ’Twas for love.”

He frowned. “You pair Camdyn with Ailsa? He hates females.”

“’Tis all on Ailsa. The laird didnae wish me to ken thus, but she’s sent a scroll in secret every week for the last year, begging Luthias accept their love, and permit Cam wed her.” He sighed. “Aye, and she’s vowed to wait for him until he seeks her sire’s blessing. ’Tis driving the armorer mad.”

Of all the excuses for the armorer’s frayed temper, that was not one he would have guessed. “Why should Camdyn give his heart to the MacAnvoy’s daughter?”

“He vows he never did,” the war master said. “He swore to Luthias he’s but seen the lass once at a clan gathering a decade past, and then only from afar. He’s never spoken a word with her. Yet to read those scrolls she sends, ’tis as if they’ve been lovers in secret these ten years. The laird believes him, as do I.”

Darach winced. “Ailsa’s off her head, then.”

“She’s lived a sheltered life, thanks to her sire,” Taveon said. “I reckon she lost her heart to Cam at first sight, and convinced herself he had done the same. Regardless, she wants no other man but our armorer, who cannae wed her, nor ever wished to. ”

“The laird need only speak to Ramsay…” He stopped as he saw the larger issue and rubbed the back of his neck. “Och, for fack’s sake.”

“Aye, you now recall how the MacAnvoy worships his daughter with uncommon ferocity, and would go to war with any who speak against the lass, as he nearly did the Tolmach,” Taveon said, nodding. “’Tis why Luthias forced Laith settle with Ramsay over the broken betrothal, and doesnae punish Cam for his foul moods.”

Darach’s anger turned to a grudging sympathy. “How can I help?”

“You’re the other thorn in Camdyn’s side,” the war master pointed out. “Dinnae prod him. I shall do what I may and keep him far from Mistress Walsh and you.”

What Taveon had told him stayed in Darach’s thoughts as he returned to the great hall to find the men gone and the maids clearing the tables. A cluster of young sages stood beneath the empty crystal crypt where the clan had kept the Fire sword for centuries, and came rushing toward him as soon as they saw him.

“Hold, lads,” he told them as they all tried to speak at the same time, and pointed to the one who looked calmest. “You, tell me what ’tis the matter.”

“We went to the spring this morning to collect moss for Elder Sgur, Chieftain,” the sage said. “He wishes make torch heads that never burn out.” He held out a large, strapped black bag with toothed pockets. “’Twas there we found this hanging from a branch over the water, and reckoned ’twould belong to the lady brought back by the sain.”

Darach took the bag, which weighed more than he expected. “You’ve no’ poked about inside, I hope?” As the sages all hung their heads he sighed. “Did you put back everything you removed?”

“Oh, aye, Chieftain, we wouldnae filch from the lady.” The sage grimaced as he held out a large book with a fine coil of metal binding the pages. “Only we cannae fathom how she made this.”