Read Princess of the Sword Online
Authors: Lynn Kurland
Princess of the Sword (27 page)
Once the floor was clean, Miach drew up a chair next to hers and collapsed into it.
“Well,” he said.
“Well, indeed,” she said weakly.
“Is there a stricture for that?”
“I don’t think so, but I read the book in Weger’s library. Does that count?”
“Cheeky wench,” he said as he reached out to tug gently on her braid. He rubbed his hand over her back for a moment or two, then took her hand. “Are you game to give something else a go?”
“Always,” she said weakly.
Miach fished Sarait’s letter out of the pile and handed it to her. “I wonder what would happen if you did your same bit of rearranging with this?”
Keir leaned forward intently. “But that spell isn’t complete.”
“Let’s see what Morgan—Mhorghain, I should say—can do with it. We might see what’s missing if we have the proper pattern for the rest.”
Morgan felt time begin to march on very oddly. She was Morgan; she was Mhorghain. She was taking magic and trying to bend it into strictures and structures she’d found in a place where no magic was possible. She was who she had been and who she had become.
She felt quite ill, actually.
Miach took her hand and squeezed it. “We can rest a bit, if you like.”
She looked at him. It took her a moment before she could see him. “Nay, I am well,” she croaked. “I’m not afraid.”
“Of course you aren’t.”
But he didn’t release her hand and she didn’t pull away. She took several deep, steadying breaths, then waited until Keir had pushed the table in front of her and put a clean sheaf of paper out. He set their mother’s letter to the side where she could see it, put the quill in her hand, then sat back down and waited, silently.
Morgan looked at the words there, then considered for quite a while. She called to mind Gleac’s most brazen strategy and considered its implementation. Men stationed themselves at the four corners of a keep, distracting as others slithered over the walls and took over those same four guard towers from the inside, and they waited whilst yet another team of more skilled mercenaries took up the same positions just inside the great hall, each group pressing inward until the lord of the hall was ringed about in his own keep by lads who were not his. The final blow came from the commander who merely walked through the front gate and into the hall without resistance, either taking the lord prisoner, or slaying him on the spot. Not quick, but exceptionally showy, leaving the lord in question no doubt as to who had been behind the attack.
Morgan looked at the words written in her mother’s hand, then arranged them in the same way, from the edge inward, layer upon layer, gathering the spell’s power as it closed about the center spot. She wrote the last word she found in her mother’s hand as she stood in front of that imaginary lord—but there was no killing blow.
But the final word was not there on the missive.
She looked at Miach and Keir. “I think all we lack is the last word.”
Keir nodded. “Mother had thought so even at the time. I think she hoped Father would close his own spell, or give away the last piece of the puzzle. For all I know he did, but I certainly didn’t hear it.” He paused. “I don’t even think he would have written it in his book, though I could be wrong. I think he had been planning to open the well for quite some time, so perhaps he did write down what he intended to use. It doesn’t matter, though, does it, since we don’t have the book.”
Morgan watched Miach stare thoughtfully at the spell. He ran his fingers over words that, thankfully, didn’t glow, then sat back and looked at Keir.
“Tell me again about how your father would leave his mark.”
“As I said, it would be his name, or a bit . . .” Keir’s face was suddenly ashen. “A bit of the spell.”
“In the place where the spell had been wrought.”
Keir nodded, mute.
Morgan was heartily glad to be sitting down. She put her hands over her face and felt Miach’s arm go around her shoulders. She reached up and took hold of his hand, hoping belatedly that she didn’t bruise his fingers. She sat there until she thought she could speak without making some unwelcome noise of distress, then she looked at him.
“We’ll find it at the well,” she said quietly. “Won’t we?”
“If it is to be found at all, aye, I imagine we will find it there.” He looked at Keir. “What do you think, Your Highness?”
Keir rubbed his hands over his face, then put his shoulders back. “ ’Tis possible. Perhaps written on some stone in the glade—perhaps the well itself. Did you notice anything whilst you were there?”
“Nay,” Miach said, “but I didn’t think to look.”
Morgan started to speak, but a sudden banging on the door almost sent her tumbling forward onto the table instead. Keir cursed, then rose and walked to the door. Morgan didn’t say anything to Miach; she simply turned and put her arms around his neck. He held her close and trailed his fingers up and down her back as if he sought to comfort her. She was happy to let him try. It was one thing to think to enter that accursed glade with spell in hand; it was another thing to attempt an assault when she wasn’t fully prepared.
As her mother had done.
She held Miach for a moment or two longer, then pulled back when she heard Keir slam his door shut. She attempted a smile, but failed. Miach managed it better than she had, but he had a very strong stomach indeed. He looked up as Keir walked swiftly across the chamber, cursing fluently.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“Prince Cruadal of Duibhreas is downstairs,” Keir said with another curse, “demanding an audience.”
“I wonder what he wants?” Miach murmured.
“Something to ease his headache, no doubt,” Morgan said with a snort.
Miach smiled at her, then turned to Keir. “Do you know him?”
“I knew his family,” Keir conceded. “He was perfectly horrible as a child, so I can’t imagine he’s improved with age. I take it he’s not unknown to you two?”
“Grandfather presented him to me as a suitor,” Morgan said. “I left it to Miach to express my aversion to the idea.”
Keir lifted an eyebrow briefly. “I would be interested in the tale, but I fear we’ve no time for it.” He hesitated, then looked at them with a very grave expression on his face. “It has been very joyous to me to have you here. Both of you. But I fear that the time has come for you to make your escape.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll entertain young master Cruadal and keep the guards busy whilst you do so. I suggest flight from the roof, if you don’t mind shapechanging.”
Morgan exchanged a look with Miach, but she supposed that had been unnecessary. He smiled slightly at her, then rose and made Keir a small bow.
“Whilst we appreciate your generosity, we can’t accept it. We can’t leave you here.”
Keir shook his head. “Impossible, lad, as I told you before.”
“Keir, you must come,” Morgan insisted. “I’m not going to lose you after I just found you again.”
He dragged his hand through his hair with a sigh. “The thought of leaving is, I’ll admit, appealing.”
Morgan walked over to him and put her arms around his waist. “Come with us,” she urged. “Think on the freedom you’ll enjoy.”
“I agree,” Miach said. “You cannot remain here, Your Highness. Not now. Not after today. Mhorghain and I can counter whatever magic holds you here. I’ll hide your essence for you.”
“He did it for me at Buidseachd,” Morgan said, looking up at her brother. “Very well, actually.”
Keir shot Miach a glare. “I should come with you simply to repay you for that—and to see you never do anything so foolish again.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m surprised to find I’m nervous at the thought of leaving.”
Miach put his hand on Keir’s shoulder. “The world outside is not such a terrible place, my lord. And your grandparents would be very happy to see you.”
Keir swallowed, apparently with quite a bit of difficulty. “I’ll think on it.”
“Don’t,” Morgan said firmly. “Don’t think about it. Just come.”
She watched her brother exchange a look with Miach, a look full of dreadful hope and not a small bit of panic. Miach only smiled at him.
“If you want to think on something,” he said, “think on the sunlight.”
Keir shuddered. He took a deep breath, hugged Morgan tightly, then stepped away. “Very well, let us see to the fool downstairs, then we’ll make our escape. There are other ways out besides the front gate.”
Morgan went to gather her blades with a lighter heart than she might have expected otherwise. She didn’t protest when Miach hid her magic as thoroughly as he had the second time in Soilléir’s chamber. She didn’t even flinch as she walked across the solar for the last time, though she felt as if she were walking over her own grave.
She shivered, once, then put it behind her and followed her brother out the door, trying to look as much like a prisoner as possible. It was difficult, because in spite of it all, she was happy.
Keir was planning to come away with them, and Miach was behind her humming a battle dirge she was quite certain he’d learned in Gobhann.
It was surprisingly cheering.
Fourteen
M
iach stood in the shadows of the great hall, wearing a spell of un-noticing under a spell of aversion under yet another spell of Olc. It was unpleasant and stifling. He could safely say he would be relieved to never need set foot inside Ceangail again, though he wasn’t unhappy that he had at present. Seeing Morgan’s reunion with her brother had been worth any unpleasantness.
iach stood in the shadows of the great hall, wearing a spell of un-noticing under a spell of aversion under yet another spell of Olc. It was unpleasant and stifling. He could safely say he would be relieved to never need set foot inside Ceangail again, though he wasn’t unhappy that he had at present. Seeing Morgan’s reunion with her brother had been worth any unpleasantness.
Now, if they could just rid themselves of the unpleasantness in front of them, he would have been content.
Cruadal of Duibhreas swayed a bit as he stood a score of paces away from the lord’s chair. Perhaps his head pained him more than he cared to let on. Miach almost wished he’d done him in, but he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that Cruadal had yet a part to play in the history of the Nine Kingdoms. He comforted himself thinking that Yngerame of Wychweald and Symon of Neroche had faced the same dilemma when they’d had Lothar in their power and considered slaying him. Though Miach wasn’t so sure that
that
wouldn’t have been a boon for them all.
that
wouldn’t have been a boon for them all.
But it might have upset the balance of good and evil in the world, as Master Soilléir was wont to say, so perhaps Yngerame and Symon had made the right choice. Miach could only hope he was doing the same thing.
Cruadal squinted as he peered into the darkness that surrounded Keir. “I am here for a spell.”
“Oh, are you,” Keir said, without a shred of inflection to his voice. “And you think I have one to give to you?”
“I know you do. And you’ll surely want to once you realize what
I
know.”
I
know.”
Miach couldn’t see Keir’s face thanks to both the spells that surrounded him and the hood he’d drawn over his head, but Miach could readily imagine his look of skepticism. Cruadal was bold, Miach would give him that. It took a particular sort of confidence to walk openly into a hall where one had no leverage and think to sway the lord by words alone.
Then again, perhaps Cruadal had a bargaining piece they didn’t know about.
“And just what is it you think you know?” Keir asked. “And you’d best make it very interesting. I don’t care to be called away from my private affairs without good reason.”
“Oh, nay,” Cruadal said, shaking his head gingerly. “Not that easily. There is a price to be paid for even a small bit of information.”
Keir laughed a bit. “Well, you’ve cheek, I’ll give you that. I’ll allow you to draw breath long enough to amuse me a bit more. Go ahead and name your price.”
“I want you to give me a spell. Actually, I want two of them, but I’m willing to wait for the second.”
“Ah, well, you are a patient lad, aren’t you?” Keir asked smoothly. “But so you have been for quite some time, haven’t you? It takes quite a bit of that to slowly administer poison to the siblings in your way of your father’s crown.”
Cruadal gaped. “How did you—”
“You are not young, Cruadal,” Keir interrupted, “and you are not careful. I think you would be surprised by how many know of your doings.”
“Rumor only,” Cruadal blustered.
Keir shrugged. “Perhaps, but that isn’t our argument today, is it? Now, instead of wasting my time any longer, why don’t you spew out what you truly want so I can tell you nay and go to supper?”
“Very well, then,” Cruadal said angrily, “I want to destroy the archmage of Neroche and I want a particular spell to do so.”
Miach was somehow not at all surprised.
“Just go slip a knife between his ribs whilst he’s sleeping,” Keir said with a yawn. “Surely you can manage that without any of my spells.”
Miach rubbed his chest before he could stop himself, then felt Morgan’s arm steal around his waist. He caught her hand and squeezed it gently, then put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
Other books
Rocky Mountain Desire: Six Pack Ranch, Book 3 by Arend, Vivian
The Underground Railroad by Jeffery L Schatzer
I See Me by Meghan Ciana Doidge
Feather Castles by Patricia Veryan
Hard Landing by Leather, Stephen
A Fallen Heart by Cate Ashwood
Zafiro by Kerstin Gier
6 Sexy Three Can Play Stories by Lunatic Ink Publishing
Castle to Castle by Louis-Ferdinand Celine
