Princess of the Sword

  “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

  Miach 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.

  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.”

  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.

  “I don’t want him dead,” Cruadal said. “I want him to watch me for the rest of his unnaturally long life and realize that I have what he lost.”

  “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

  “His power and his woman.”

  Miach tightened his arm around Morgan to stop her from moving, but realized it was unnecessary.

  “I wasn’t going to go stab him,” she muttered, “though I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind.”

  “I imagine it’s crossing your brother’s mind as well,” Miach whispered. “At least we know what Cruadal wants—not that it was ever in question. After all, he’s already tried to kill me and found the experience unsatisfactory enough to want to try again.”

  She looked up at him and smiled faintly. “You are never serious.”

  “I am now and again. And I’m taking that fool there seriously enough. I wonder what His Lordship will say?”

  “I can hardly wait to hear.”

  Miach turned back to listen to Cruadal and found himself unnerved, but not at all surprised, by what he was hearing.

  “I don’t think you’ll find the archmage of Neroche so easily trapped,” Keir was saying negligently, “but I suppose you could try. So, if you don’t want me to hold him down so you can fumble your knife into his gut, what is it exactly you want from me?”

  “A spell of Diminishing.”

  Keir laughed out loud, a sound of genuine humor. He had been leaning back in his chair with one ankle propped up on the opposite knee, but now he dropped both feet onto the floor and sat forward. “And why is it, my wee elven prince, that you think I would ever give you such a thing?”

  “Because I have a name, a name you’ll be most interested in.”

  “So, let me understand this,” Keir said, sitting back again. “You want to give me a name. And in return for that name, you want me to give you the most powerful spell in existence. Well, outside of the spells that a particular master in Buidseachd teaches, but I can’t imagine you ever slithered through the doors of the schools of wizardry, much less stayed long enough to earn enough of the rings to even darken that mage’s door.”

  Cruadal’s hands were clenched down at his sides. “I wouldn’t have bothered with anyone in Beinn òrain, and I couldn’t care less about any ridiculous rings. And you will want this name. I can’t imagine you want any of your father’s rightful get running about, ruining your hold over Ceangail.”

  Keir tilted his hooded head to one side. “Who do you think I am, boy?”

  “Not one of Gair’s legitimate children, though I imagine you’d like to be,” Cruadal said promptly. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Why would I?” Keir asked, rubbing his hands together absently.

  Cruadal took a step closer. “Give me what I want and I’ll tell you who might come knocking on your door, wanting to sit in your chair.”

  “I’m not particularly eager to share my spells,” Keir said, “especially that one. You might try Lothar.”

  “I don’t have anything that Lothar want—” He shut his mouth with a snap. “Never mind.”

  Miach felt himself grow cold at the thought. He’d feared a fortnight ago that Cruadal would eventually decide to join forces with Lothar, or at least try to strike up some sort of alliance. He’d supposed that Cruadal would use Morgan’s name and whose daughter she happened to be as his bargaining chip. At the time, Miach had feared that Lothar would come for Morgan because he would want to take her power.

  But now he was certain that Lothar would do that only after he’d forced her to open the well.

  Cruadal clasped his hands behind his back. “Perhaps, since you’re not inclined to give me what I want, I might be willing to settle for the second spell I wanted from you.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “A spell of opening.”

  “Well,” Keir said very softly, “that’s an interesting thing to want. What is it you intend to open?”

  “Nothing in particular,” he said. “Nothing of import. It would be a trivial thing to give when weighed against what I would give you in return. Trust me, this soul would truly be a threat to your comfortable life.”

  Keir looked at him for a moment, then called for parchment and ink. He penned something quickly, handed it to a servant, then looked at Cruadal. “You give me the name; I’ll give you the spell.”

  “I want the spell first.”

  “I imagine you do,” Keir said coolly. He waved his servant on, then stopped him just before he handed Cruadal the paper. “The name.”

  “Mhorghain of Ceangail.”

  “She’s dead,” Keir said.

  “She’s not,” Cruadal returned. “I saw her with my own eyes. She is a legitimate heir to your father’s throne, which might trouble you a bit, don’t you agree?”

  Keir lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I can’t imagine why.”

  Cruadal took hold of the sheaf. “Which bastard are you?”

  “I’m none.”

  Cruadal tugged until the servant finally released the paper with the spell written on it. Cruadal glared at the man, then at Keir. “Who are you then?”

  Keir lifted his hood back off his face. Cruadal gasped.

  “Who . . .”

  “Keir,” Keir said easily. “The eldest.”

  Cruadal cast a spell of binding. Miach stopped himself with a spell of protection half out of his mouth. Spells had already sprung up around Keir, strong ones, ones he could see from where he stood. A handful of mages stepped out of the shadows, their eyes fixed on Cruadal. He suddenly was quite still. Miach could see very unpleasant spells of Lugham wrapped around him. Keir only smiled.

  “I am not without protection, as you see. I’m quite happy to remain here in my comfortable seat, no matter which of my siblings might be alive. Now, since you have your spell, why don’t you be on your way?”

  Cruadal apparently couldn’t speak.

  “Let me help you,” Keir said politely. He beckoned and a dozen lads came forward to pick Cruadal up and carry him from the hall. Miach felt Morgan lean against him.

  “He won’t be happy with that.”

  “I would love to see his expression when he manages to free himself from that spell,” Miach agreed. “I daresay we should be on our way long before that happens.”

  She looked up at him. “Can we manage it?”

  “To be free of this keep? Of course. I don’t particularly want to fight my way out of here with spells, but we will if we have no choice. We won’t leave without your brother.”

  “And Cruadal?”

  He tightened his arm around her. “We need to hurry, Morgan. I am very much afraid that when Lothar finds out you’re alive,
he won’t merely want your power. He’ll want you to do for him what he cannot do for himself.”

  She was very still. “Open the well?”

  “Aye.”

  “Can’t he do it himself?”

  “Not now. Not after your mother shut it even partially using your father’s spell.” He paused. “I don’t think he hasn’t managed it, though, from a lack of trying. He simply doesn’t have the power to overcome your father’s spells and he doesn’t have the bloodright to remove them. It will make you doubly attractive to him. Cruadal is stupid enough to believe he’ll be able to be a part of any of it.” He shook his head. “He won’t like what happens to him once he’s told Lothar what he knows.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m ready for this to be over.”

  “We’ll hurry.”

  She tightened her arm around his waist briefly, then pulled away. He heard the distinct sound of knives coming from sheaths.

  He remained in the dark with Morgan and listened to Keir give instructions to his servants and thank his mages kindly for their aid. He rose only to run bodily into another man who had appeared suddenly next to him.

  The menace was easily seen.

  “Dìolain,” Keir said pleasantly. “How lovely. Did you come to rescue me?”

  The other man made a noise of disgust. “Rather I should have let him have you.”

  Keir shrugged. “You could have, my beloved bastard brother, given that I am defenseless. There must be something you want very badly to leave me alive.”

  Dìolain leaned closer to him. “I could torture it from you.”

  Keir smiled without humor. “I think you’ve tried that before, and failed. I suppose you’ll have to think of something else. Bribery, perhaps, or just a very polite request. You never know when I’ll decide to accommodate you.”

  “Make it soon,” the other said in a low, dangerous voice. “My patience has grown perilously thin.”

  Keir shook his head, as if the other’s stupidity was simply beyond comprehension. He pushed past him, then paused and turned. “You might want to follow that slippery elven prince. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could heave him.”