Miach nodded, though he supposed by the grim look Morgan was now wearing, they wouldn’t be tidings he would particularly want to hear.
He walked with Morgan into Hearn’s hall and found that a meal had already been prepared for them. He ate with Morgan and listened to Hearn tell of what he’d heard. He was unfortunately unsurprised to find the tales revolved around terrible creatures that killed without any reason and moved on to kill again.
“At least that’s the rumor,” Hearn added. He looked about him, then leaned in. “I can’t speak for every victim, but from what I can gather, those as were killed had magic.” He paused. “Camanaë-style magic.”
Miach heard Morgan gasp. It hid his own quite handily.
“And what do you suspect?” Miach asked.
Hearn shrugged. “I only know tidings from horses that come through my gates. But they’re honest animals, for the most part. What they’ve witnessed distresses them. Those beasts roaming about are nothing like they’ve witnessed before.”
Miach sighed. “I’m working on discovering who’s sending them. I’ll see them stopped.”
“If anyone can, ’tis you, lad. Now, something for a message?”
“Please.”
Miach watched Hearn walk off to look for quill and paper, then nursed his ale and considered the messages he needed to send. It took him only a few minutes to scribble down something for Cathar and something else for Paien of Allerdale. His brother would need to know what was happening in the realm, and Paien needed to know ’twas time to take the shards of the Sword of Angesand to Durial. He folded the sheaves, then handed them to Hearn. Hearn frowned.
“Aren’t you going to seal them?”
“No one will bother to open them.”
Hearn smiled briefly. “Handy, aren’t you?”
“You’ve no idea,” Morgan said wryly.
Miach smiled at her, then pushed back his ale. “Thank you, my lord, for the refuge. We needed it.”
“’Tis here for you any time you need it,” Hearn said, rising. “I’ll walk you to the front gates, then you can be on your way. Unless there’s anything else I can do for you?”
Miach shook his head. “We have what we need for the journey, but I appreciate the offer.”
Hearn nodded, then walked through the courtyard and down to the gates with them. Miach thanked him again, watched Morgan embrace him warmly, then he took a deep breath and looked at her.
“Ready?”
“Aye.”
He thanked Hearn one last time, then took Morgan’s hand and walked through the gates with her. The sun was setting, which troubled him somehow. It bothered him enough to not be able to sense what was coming at them; not being able to see it either was doubly unsettling.
“Miach, you didn’t send that missive to Adhémar,” Morgan said quietly.
He dragged his attention back to her. “I wanted the tidings reported accurately,” he said.
She looked at him in shock. “But surely Adhémar wouldn’t stoop so low.”
“He has before. ’Tis better this way. Cathar will pretend he heard tidings in the lists and Adhémar will believe him.”
“I knew there was a reason I didn’t like him,” she muttered.
He smiled grimly, but said no more. It was a sorry state of affairs when king and archmage couldn’t meet on common ground. Part of it was his fault; he had no patience for idiocy and his brother the king was full of that. The rest of it was Adhémar’s fault for not treating him like a man full grown and trusting him with anything serious. So, they didn’t speak of demanding things and the realm marched on as best it could.
Actually not, at present, but that wasn’t Adhémar’s doing.
He paused after they had left the last house in the village behind them, then looked over the plain.
“I think we should cross this,” he said slowly, “then take wing in the forest.”
“How far is it to Tòrr Dòrainn?”
“At least a fortnight on horseback,” Miach said. “The road leads past Ainneamh and up into the mountains. It is not difficult for the first se’nnight, but it is as it progresses. I think it better not to attempt to run. It will take too long and leave us too exposed. We’ll take wing in that far forest there.”
“As you will, Miach.”
He squeezed her hand and walked into the twilight.
And into the middle of hell.
They were suddenly surrounded by a score of the creatures he had come to expect. He was so shocked, he almost lost his head before he managed to draw his sword. Damn it, it just wasn’t possible that they could have sensed him and Morgan. He’d hidden their tracks completely. Not even Lothar would have been able to find them.
Unless they were coming for Morgan and he should have been hiding her very essence instead of her magic.
He fought, heard Morgan fighting behind him, and considered what sort of spell he dared use. He didn’t want to draw every fiend in Neroche down to Angesand, yet he saw no way to prevail without aid.
Before he could give it the thought it deserved, horsemen poured out from the village. They encircled the trolls, then attacked. He backed up against Morgan, hard.
“No magic,” he said quickly.
“Aye,” she said, then she swore.
Miach saw her fighting a hideous creature that was half again as tall as she was. Miach pulled Weger’s knife from his boot and flung it into the creature’s eye. It paused, shook its head, then slowly fell backward and crashed to the ground.
The remainder of the battle was bloody, but mercifully brief. It wasn’t a quarter of an hour later that all their enemies lay lifeless on the ground. Miach hunched over with his hands on his thighs and sucked in ragged breaths until he thought he could straighten and not puke. He heaved himself upright and stumbled over to where Morgan was looking at the carnage, breathing equally as raggedly.
“How did they find us?” she asked him.
He wanted to tell her that it was their shapechanging magic. After all, it was the only magic they’d used in the past twelve hours. Well, save that spell of insignificance he’d put on those missives, but surely that hadn’t called to them so quickly.
He looked at Morgan helplessly. “I don’t like not to have all the answers, but in this instance, I seem to have none. I’ve snuck into Riamh and walked past Lothar himself without being noticed. I have no idea why these creatures see through the way I’m hiding us. Unless there is something in our blood that draws them. I haven’t hid that.”
She looked at him for quite a while in silence. “Is it me…” She cleared her throat. “Do I attract them? Because of…”
“Merely who you are?” he asked very quietly. “I will admit that the thought has occurred to me. You’ve been at every attack except the one on Adhémar before I sent him south. Those creatures had the same stench of evil about them, but they were not so gruesome looking as these lads. As for the rest of the attacks—” He shrugged. “I think there is something to them searching out Camanaë blood, but I fear there is more to it than that, for I bear that blood as well.” He paused. “I just don’t know.”
“What now, then?”
“We’ll make for Tòrr Dòrainn without any magic. And I’ll completely hide any traces of our essences, not just our magic.”
“What’s our other choice?”
“Retreat to Tor Neroche—”
“Nay,” she said immediately. “I won’t run, and neither will you.” She paused. “Do you think we should seek them out?”
He looked about him for a moment, then sighed deeply. “I’ve considered it, but I think it won’t serve us. We could go all over Neroche and look, but since we haven’t sensed them before, I can’t imagine we’ll sense them in the future. And that doesn’t solve the problem of where they’re coming from.”
“It doesn’t, but it also doesn’t do anything to stop these creatures from killing innocent villagers.”
“If there was anything I could do differe
ntly, I would. I think our only choice is to continue on and be quick. But we will still stop in Tòrr Dòrainn.” He had to. If that talisman did indeed exist and it would do anything at all to help him keep Morgan safe, he would have it if he had to pry it from the king of Tòrr Dòrainn’s cold, dead fingers.
“We’ll run, then,” she said firmly. “I’m much more myself today. I’ll manage.”
She was better than she had been, but plainly not herself. Miach started to say as much, but she shook her head.
“I will manage,” she said. “Have a look at these lads. I’ll go thank Hearn for the aid.”
Miach didn’t protest. He cleaned his sword on the snow and resheathed it, then went to fetch his knife. He pulled it from the creature’s eye, then froze as he reached out for a bit of the troll’s tunic to use in cleaning that blade. He frowned. What the lad was wearing was less a tunic and more some sort of leathery flesh. He rubbed snow carefully on his knife, then stuck it back into his boot before he squatted down to have a closer look at what he’d killed.
The troll was covered with some sort of webbish magic. It was a part of him in the same way the tunic was, only rather less cloth and more flesh. Miach tried without success to unravel the spell. Every time he thought he had hold of it, it slipped away from him.
Much like his spells of defense, he realized with a start.
He had to stand up only because if he’d remained squatting, he would have fallen over from surprise. He stood there, looking down, and finding that things were not at all as he’d suspected they were.
Whatever was sending the creatures before him was also undermining his spells. He would have staked his life on that.
But it wasn’t Lothar. This magic was different, less crude, less showy.
Somehow more evil.
Miach looked up into the darkening sky and wondered. He considered again his list of black mages, but could credit none of them with something this devious. Devious and slippery and impossible to take hold of. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before.
He had to find out what was causing it before there was nothing left of the realm.
He dragged his hand through his hair, then turned back to the west. Morgan was standing with Hearn, talking earnestly. Actually, she was shaking her head vigorously every time Hearn said anything. Miach left his mystery behind and walked over to them.
Hearn turned to him as he approached. “I told your lady here that I’ve a pair of horses with wings on their feet. You’ll take them—despite her resistance.”
“I cannot guarantee their safety,” Miach said without hesitation.
Hearn looked at the fallen for a moment or two, then looked at Miach. “If these sorts of beasts fill the land, I won’t have any horses anyway, will I? Send the mounts back when you’ve finished, or bring them back yourselves when you have a chance. They will fly for you, if you ask it.”
Miach bowed his head. Horses would mean nothing less than the difference between success and failure. He blew out his breath and looked at Hearn. “How do I begin to thank you for this?”
“Name your firstborn son after me.”
Miach managed a laugh. “We just might.”
Hearn looked at Morgan from under his bushy eyebrows. “You’re bested, gel, admit it. Give in graciously.”
Morgan sighed. “A wise warrior knows when to surrender and bow to the superior man.”
“So as that warrior pretends to bow, he can pluck the knife from his boot and do a little damage to that superior man, is that it?” Hearn asked with a snort.
She laughed a little. “Aye, my lord, so it goes. But I thank you. We’ve yet to come to your hall that we don’t leave with horses.”
“A terrible habit,” Hearn said. “Can’t imagine why I keep spoiling you two.” He winked at Miach, then turned and walked off, calling orders to his men to tidy the battlefield.
Miach watched him go, then turned to Morgan. “This is a gift that can never be repaid. We’ll make good time and be able to do so without magic.” He looked at her. “Can you kindle a fire?”
“I’ve managed to survive by less lofty means than you, my lord,” she said archly. “I’ll see you don’t freeze at night. I can also, if you can believe it, hunt.”
“Then what shall I do? Knit?”
“I suppose you’ll think of something.” She smiled, but it faded quickly. “I hate to ride these good beasts into danger.”
“We’ll vanish into the mountains and no one will be the wiser. They will be safe enough.”
He stood with Morgan until the horses arrived, stocked with gear, and looking ready to run. Hearn took their reins and handed one set to Miach and the other to Morgan.
“Unremarkable looking,” Hearn said, “but very fleet, stouthearted, and loyal. I’ve told them of your plight. They’re prepared to aid you as they may.”
“Their names?” Morgan asked, stroking the black on the right.
“Fleòd for Miach and Luath for you. Send them off when you’ve no more need of them. They’ll find their way home.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Miach said, with feeling. “In truth, we cannot thank you enough.”
“I have another well awaiting your pleasure,” Hearn said cheerfully. “After you wed my Morgan here, you can come honeymoon in my loft. Work on my well during the day and on my namesake during the night. If you manage to win this gel, of course.”
Miach smiled in spite of himself. “I’ll see what I can do about the latter that I might manage the former.”
Hearn nodded, then turned and boosted Morgan up into Luath’s saddle. Miach shook the lord of Angesand’s hand, then took Fleòd’s reins and mounted. Hearn looked at them both.
“Fare you well,” he said. “And be careful.”
Miach supposed he wasn’t merely concerned about the horses. He nodded to Hearn, looked at Morgan, then urged his horse forward. Luath followed along without hesitation. Miach waited until he and Morgan were out of earshot before he pulled up and looked at her.
“I hate to run the horses in the dark, but I fear even more not doing so,” he said quietly.
“Don’t you think they know where they’re going?”
He nodded. “Aye.”
“Let’s fly, then.”
They rode through the night. Miach had considered stopping to rest several times during that journey, but his mount had only flicked his ears back at him as if to call him mad and continued on without hesitation.
But now, even he had begun to feel the need of a brief respite. As dawn was breaking, he reined Fleòd in and looked at Morgan, who had done the same.
“How are you?”
“Exhausted,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I’ll ever walk again.”
He smiled wearily. “I suspect the horses could go on for quite a bit longer, but perhaps they’ll have pity on us.” He nodded toward a beautiful, clear stream. “Let’s see how that tastes.”
She looked about her, then frowned. “Where are we?”
He swung down and walked in front of Luath to hold up his hands for her. “Chagailt is to the northwest, through that forest.”
She landed, swayed, then steadied herself. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t stop,” she said anxiously. “Not after what happened to us in that forest the last time.”
Miach considered. “This is the forest south of Chagailt, not the one to the west of it, but I understand your concern. The horses need to be watered, though, if only for a few minutes. A quarter hour won’t matter.”
“Very well,” she said, but she loosened her sword in its sheath.
Miach led the horses to the stream and let them drink. He felt Morgan come up beside him and put her arm around him. He gathered her close and rested his cheek against her hair, then closed his eyes and was grateful for ground beneath him that didn’t move.
“Miach?”
“Aye, love.”
“About these creatures,” she began slowly. “There’s a part of me that fears there may com
e a time when we won’t best them.” She looked up at him. “I’m not happy thinking that, and I don’t doubt our skill…” She shrugged helplessly. “Even a superior warrior finds himself bested at least once.” She paused. “It is usually his last battle—for obvious reasons.”
“I don’t believe we’ll fail.”
She looked off into the distance for a minute, then turned to him. “What of Searbhe?”
Miach nodded. “I wondered about him. I looked for his presence on Melksham one night at Lismòr and didn’t sense him. But I am not as adept at that sort of thing as I would like to be. I want to believe he ran home to Riamh, but I don’t know.”
She frowned. “Then you don’t think he’s responsible for any of this?”
“I don’t.”
“I think that doesn’t reassure me.”
“I daresay it shouldn’t,” he said grimly. He looked around them, then put his hand briefly on her shoulder. “We’ll hurry.”
She nodded.
But she didn’t look any more at ease than he was.
They would water the horses, then continue on. If nothing else, perhaps they could outrun whatever might be seeking them.
He didn’t want to think on what it would mean if they couldn’t.
Eighteen
Morgan opened her eyes and saw daylight streaming down through trees around her. Though the sight was beautiful, the fact that it was day and not night bothered her. She remained still and tried to determine why. The last thing she remembered was Miach saying that he felt safe enough to camp under the eaves of Sìle’s forest. She had no recollection of getting down off her horse and rolling up in very cozy blankets. Perhaps a se’nnight with hardly any sleep had been more taxing than she’d wanted to admit.
She wasn’t one to complain about the harshness of any given journey, but the one they’d just made had been grueling. They’d ridden almost without ceasing from Hearn’s keep, though not always at a gallop and certainly with much less speed as they made their way through the mountains. Miach had estimated they would reach Tòrr Dòrainn in a fortnight. They had made it in eight days, eight terrible, endless days. They hadn’t seen anything untoward. Then again, they hadn’t exactly stopped long enough to see much of anything at all. She’d finally resorted to memorizing the spells Miach taught her to keep herself awake in the saddle.