Princess of the Sword

  Miach laughed uneasily. “I wish I was certain you were jesting.”

  “I imagine you do,” Cathar agreed with a grin. “Not to fear; Rigaud will survive. The rest of the lads are, of course, behind you without question. They’re also ready to troop to Melksham and see what King Nicholas can produce for them.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m going to woo the widow Tonnag.” He smiled. “She brews a particularly fine dark ale, don’t you know.”

  “Well, you seem to.”

  Cathar cursed him, which made him feel much more as if things were as they always had been.

  But somehow, they weren’t. It was as if he’d suddenly become the steward of everyone and everything in the realm of Neroche. It was a bit like when he’d had his magic come back to him after he’d left Gobhann, only this was a much stronger sensation. He supposed if he’d tried, he could have sensed the essence of anything in the kingdom.

  He looked into the fire and searched for the trolls that had hunted him and Morgan before. He saw Hearn’s men slaying half a dozen, Ehrne’s kin doing the like with a different group of them on the borders of Ainneamh, his own guardsmen finishing off a handful more on the border of Riamh. He hesitated, then looked farther, to Ceangail and past that to Durial.

  He was very surprised indeed to find how much he could see there as well.

  He pulled his attention back to what he was searching for. There were no trolls that he could see farther east than Ceangail, which was a great relief somehow. He realized, with a start, that most of them seemed to be gathered at the well at Ceangail, as if they’d been called there. Which he supposed they had.

  He sighed deeply and rubbed his hand over his face. The sooner they were seen to, the better for them all.

  He pulled himself back to himself finally, then realized Cathar was still sitting there. He smiled briefly. “Sorry. You were saying?”

  “Poor Morgan.” Cathar sighed. “She’ll be forever prodding you during supper to not neglect your wine.”

  “Trust me, I never wander off mentally when she’s near.”

  “I can see why not,” Cathar said. “She’s a marvel. And if you’re curious, she’s downstairs, pacing through the passageways.”

  Miach pushed himself to his feet and handed his cup to his brother. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I thought she’d gone to bed.”

  “She told me not to disturb you if you were working. She promised she wasn’t bolting.”

  “A fact for which I’ll be forever grateful,” Miach threw over his shoulder as he strode to the door. He slowed to a stop before he opened it, then looked at his brother. “Do me a favor.”

  “Anything.”

  “I’m going hunting, well before dawn likely. I’ll take Mansourah and Nemed with me, as well as whoever from Tòrr Dòrainn and Ainneamh will come along. I need to find the remaining trolls and finish them.”

  Cathar looked at him in surprise. “Why don’t you send someone else?”

  “Because I am still the archmage of the realm,” Miach said quietly, “and my duty is to protect that realm.”

  Cathar stared at him for a moment or two in silence, then smiled a very small smile. “Mother would have been proud of you.”

  “Mother would have told me I was dawdling,” he said dryly, “but I must go at least hold my lady for a bit before I go.”

  “Which she also would have understood,” Cathar said. “But if you don’t want me to go with you, what favor do you want from me?”

  “Guard Morgan’s back.”

  Cathar’s mouth fell open. “Against the lassies downstairs?”

  Miach shot him a look that had him holding up his hands in surrender.

  “Very well, I’ll be her personal guardsman. I’m sure she’ll be vastly relieved to have me. And when those shrews turn on me, perhaps she’ll keep me safe.”

  “I daresay she will.” Miach opened his door. “Bank my fire for me, would you?”

  “Demoted to servant already—”

  Miach shut the door on his brother’s laughter and loped down the stairs. He walked up and down stairs and along passageways until he came to the great hall. He stopped at the doorway and smiled at the sight that greeted him.

  Morgan had pulled the king’s chair up to the hearth and was stretching up to hang the Sword of Angesand on the wall. Miach watched her for a moment or two, then decided it was perhaps time to offer aid before she unraveled the tapestries with her curses. He walked across the floor and around the end of the table. He lit another handful of torches with a sweet spell of Fadaire, then looked up at her.

  “Might I offer aid, fair maiden?”

  She blew hair out of her eyes. “Either that, or fetch me a cushion. I only need another handsbreadth. I suppose I could stand on the arms of this chair—”

  Miach reached up and took the sword from her. “Off, gel, and let me see to it for you.” He changed places with her, put the sword back up on the wall, then jumped off the chair and pushed it back in. He looked at her.

  “You’re up late.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “Well, that and I thought the sword should go back where it belonged.”

  “It belongs with you,” he said quietly, “but you can keep it up there if you like.” He reached for her hand. “The Sword of Neroche crosses it, you know, when the king is the right sort of lad to leave a sword on the wall.”

  “Which you might be?”

  He shrugged. “I have a knife in my boot and a spell or two at my command. What else do I need? Well, save you. And perhaps a contingent of musicians to play for us.”

  “You’ve but one thing on your mind,” she said with a smile.

  “ ’Tis a handy excuse to hold you in my arms,” he admitted. “And it will keep us from discussing a half dozen things that require just us in my mother’s solar, safe and warm under Mehar’s weaving. Though I’ll tell you that I think the Sword of Angesand chose well.” He looked at her seriously. “No one could have done what you did, Morgan, and not just because you’re your father’s daughter. You have faced things that would have caused mighty mages to quake and you have bested them.”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t have done it without you. And if you want my opinion, I think the Sword of Neroche chose well, if it was the one to do the choosing.”

  He shrugged uncomfortably. “We’ll see, I suppose.”

  She pursed her lips. “Miach, I have felt his power. I have a fair idea of what it took for you to do what you did on the field two days ago.”

  He took a deep breath, then smiled. “I wanted you safe and at liberty to dance with me, so let us be about that before we both find ourselves lost too much in memories of events perhaps better left forgotten for the moment. We’ll have to imagine up the music, though. I can’t conjure viols and flutes.”

  “And I can’t sing,” she said with a smile, “so I suppose we’ll just make do.”

  He led her back around the table and across the hall. He stopped in surprise at the sight of a handful of musicians standing near the hall doors. One of the string players stepped forward and made him a bow.

  “Prince Cathar thought you might be needing us, Your Highness.”

  Miach smiled. “Thank you, gentlemen. I daresay we would welcome your company.”

  The violinist elbowed one of his fellows. “Shut the door, lad, and let’s give the prince archmage and his lady a bit of privacy.”

  Miach took Morgan’s hand and led her into the midst of the hall. He made her a low bow, had an elegant curtsey in return, then he laughed and danced with her all the patterns he knew. He stumbled through a pair of them she’d learned from Brèagha, then finally pulled her back into his arms and simply held her close as the music continued to play.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “I wish I could begin to tell you how much.”

  He felt her hand running through his hair before her arms went around his neck. “You just did and I feel the same.” She
pulled back far enough to smile at him. “I don’t want to let go of you.”

  “Very soon, you won’t have to.”

  She started to smile, then she froze. She stared at him for a moment or two, then her eyes narrowed. “You’re planning something you don’t want me to know about.”

  He retrieved his jaw before it fell too far south. “What?” he asked, wondering if he might feign a bit of sudden deafness.

  “Miach, what are you doing?”

  He thought about hedging, but decided there was no point. He had planned to leave her a note, though that would have likely led to having it back on the end of her sword. He took a deep breath. “I must see to those creatures of Lothar’s. They are rudderless, you might say, but still lethal in the right circumstances. I can’t leave them to roam the realm unchecked.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  He smiled, pained. “Morgan . . .”

  “Miach, don’t you dare leave me behind.”

  “I won’t be gone longer than a pair of days and I won’t go alone.”

  “But you won’t take me,” she said flatly.

  He hesitated, then leaned forward and carefully rested his forehead against hers. “Morgan, my dearest love, I know who you are and what you can do. I also know that you have, over the last handful of months, faced things that no soldier, no matter how brave, should have had to face without the hope of a rest after the battle was won. You have earned your rest.”

  “And what of you?” she asked quietly.

  “I’ll rest when I return.”

  She put her head on his shoulder. “Is this how it will be? You leaving me behind at the first sign of a good battle?”

  He smiled against her hair. “I don’t think this will qualify as a good battle. I imagine I’ll find these lads at the well and I would prefer to spare you another trip there. Allow me to ply a little of my very rusty chivalry on you, won’t you?”

  She sighed deeply. “If that’s the case, then I suppose I should thank you for it. I could avoid that place quite happily, I think.”

  “With any luck, we’ll both manage that in the future.”

  “I hope so,” she said quietly. She lifted her head and looked at him. “Very well, I’ll humor you. I’ll terrorize your garrison, or attempt to keep my grandfather from terrorizing your ministers. I daresay the first will be the easier task.”

  “You could also keep Sosar company.”

  “I could.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Did Lothar take all his power?”

  “Sosar won’t discuss it with me. I don’t know that he wouldn’t with either enough time or enough sour wine from Penrhyn, but I haven’t had the opportunity to ply him with the latter, and I haven’t had the former to give him.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He might talk to you.”

  “He might.”

  “Did you hear everything I discussed with Keir?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you memorized all your father’s spells that he gave me, didn’t you?”

  “Unfortunately,” she said with a shiver. “Does it matter?”

  “Sosar said something about having talked to Keir about things he wouldn’t elaborate on. Perhaps the particulars of Diminishing were amongst them. If nothing else, you’ll take his mind off his situation until we can find a remedy for him.”

  She nodded, then reached up and put her hands on his face. “Be careful.”

  He smiled. “Morgan, nothing will come upon me unawares. Not now.”

  “No one is infallible,” she said pointedly, “but you know that already.” She sighed deeply. “You can’t leave your people in danger.”

  “Our people,” he corrected softly, “and nay, I cannot. Most of those monsters were drawn to the well anyway. It won’t be hard to put them out of their misery.”

  “I don’t like this, but I suppose there are times when you’ll need to be off and doing without me. When will you go?”

  “Sometime before dawn,” he said. “I’d like to sleep for a couple of hours first, if possible. I suppose camping in front of your fire is out.”

  “As is a night in your hayloft, unless you want to find yourself skewered on the end of my grandfather’s sword.”

  “I’ve already almost had that pleasure, so perhaps we should forbear for the moment. I’ll at least walk you to your door.”

  She nodded, then slipped her hand into his. He walked with her across the hall, thanked the musicians for their fine playing, then continued down the passageways to where he knew Morgan’s chamber lay.

  He hadn’t, not in his heart of hearts where he might have cherished dreams he would have told only his mother who wouldn’t have laughed at him, imagined that he might be walking the halls of Tor Neroche with a woman he loved holding his hand. He certainly wouldn’t have imagined it with what faced him being his own crowning.

  He continued on with Morgan until they stood in front of her door. He reached for the latch only to have the door open before he could touch it. Sìle scowled at him.

  “Wondered when you’d bring her back.”

  “Did you know I had her?” Miach asked in surprise.

  “I peered into the great hall,” Sìle said gruffly. “Couldn’t bring myself to interrupt such fine dancing. At least you paid attention in your lessons and you won’t shame her. I worry about you in other areas, but at least in this, you’ll suffice.”

  “Grandfather,” Morgan said weakly.

  Miach only smiled and made Sìle a low bow. “That’s very kind of you, Your Majesty.”

  “Here’s kindness,” Sìle said, opening the door fully. “We prepared a place for you by the fire. You can sleep safely tonight, at least.”

  “Very kind,” Miach said with a smile.

  Sìle grunted at him, then nodded toward the fire. Miach walked with Morgan over to the hearth to find two empty seats there side by side. Miach waited until Morgan had sat before he collapsed in the chair next to her. He smiled at Morgan’s mercenary companions, who were already enjoying hefty tankards of ale.

  “Your Highness,” Paien said, raising his mug in salute.

  Miach accepted a cup of ale from Camid and passed it to Morgan. He settled himself with his own, then relaxed for the first time in days.

  He sipped for a bit, then set his mug aside and held out his hand. Morgan put hers into his, smiling at him. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed it, then leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. The conversation washed over him, leaving him feeling as if he merely sat about a campfire with well-known traveling companions. In time, he heard others join the group, Cathar, Turah, and even Sosar, but he didn’t do anything past acknowledging them with a look and a smile. He was enormously grateful to be where he was, away from prying eyes, away from fathers who seemed to lie in wait for him around every corner, away from things he would have to slay on the morrow.

  He was very grateful for the simple pleasure of the company of trusted companions.

  He asked Cathar to wake him in a pair of hours, then closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep.

  Four days later, he walked through the passageways of Tor Neroche, tired, hungry, and thoroughly sick of the work of death.

  It had taken him far longer to finish his business than he’d expected, but he’d had no choice but to see it through to the end. It had been unpleasant and unrelenting, and he’d been very grateful Morgan hadn’t been forced to be a part of it. She had enough of evil and darkness in her past; if he could spare her any more, he would do so without hesitation.

  He ran bodily into his eldest brother before he realized that brother was standing in front of the chapel doors. Cathar turned around, then blew his hair out of his eyes.

  “Finally.”

  “Finally, what?” Miach asked in surprise. “I hurried.”

  “You’d best continue to hurry. By my last count, there are eight kings and queens inside, waiting to watch you become the ninth. I’ve distracted them for four solid day
s with food, dancing, and the entire reserves of sour wine from Penrhyn, and that doesn’t begin to address the number and kind of all the rest of the guests who’ve needed to be fed and distracted. I asked Morgan this morning when she thought you would be back and she said she was sure today. I think her exact words were, ‘if he doesn’t return today, I’m going to go find him and kill him.’ ” He smiled. “You must have sensed that.”

  “I daresay,” Miach said with a weary smile. “Thank you for keeping watch over her.”

  “Not that she needed it, but you’re welcome just the same.” He smiled. “The woman is, well, you know what she is. She’s already run through the garrison daily since you left; half the lads are in love with her, the other half terrified of her. That has occupied her mornings quite well. She’s spent the evenings closeted with Sosar of Tòrr Dòrainn in the library, looking for heaven knows what.”

  “And the afternoons?”

  “Arguing with Mistress Wardrobe.” Cathar paused. “I thought it wise to demand all her blades before each of those encounters, lest something go awry. I didn’t manage it today, though, so don’t blame me if there’s been bloodshed. I was too busy trying to entertain your guests to render your lady weaponless.”

  Miach nodded, then realized he wasn’t altogether sure what he was nodding about. “Guests?”

  “Inside the chapel, Miach,” Cathar said, frowning at him. “Weren’t you listening?”

  “I was too busy thinking about food and a bath.”

  “Well, you’d best hurry with both. You’re being crowned, oh, an hour ago, which means you’re very late. But then again, so is your lady coming down the passageway toward us. There might not have been bloodshed, but I imagine there has been a fair amount of arguing.”

  Miach smiled, then glanced down the passageway. He had to find a handy wall to lean against just to keep himself upright. He looked at her for a moment or two, then turned to his brother. “What did you tell me about bloodshed?”

  Cathar frowned, then shrugged. “I can’t remember. Morgan has that effect, I think. As if she’d just walked out of a dream.” He took a deep breath. “And before I start singing praises about your future wife, I think I’ll take myself off to find the rest of the lads. We’ll be waiting for you. Don’t dawdle.”