Authors: Lynn Kurland

Princess of the Sword (20 page)

BOOK: Princess of the Sword

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She turned away and walked quickly into the forest until she thought she dared run. With any luck, Miach would read her note and leave her to do what she needed to. If not, she would outrun him and be over the walls of where she intended to go before he could reach her—and she had the feeling that the only way to breach the defenses of her intended keep was to slip over the wall, alone.

She started to run.

Ten

M
iach woke to a weight on his chest. He usually woke quite well, with his head clear, fully aware of his surroundings. That he didn’t at present likely spoke volumes about his weariness. He needed a long succession of days where he had a full night’s sleep whilst someone else saw to the defense of the realm.

But since that wasn’t going to happen in his lifetime, he would just make do. He shook his head to clear it, then opened his eyes, expecting to see Morgan sitting next to him with her hand resting on him.

Instead, what he saw was the furious king of Tòrr Dòrainn standing over him, with Turah and Sosar on either side of him looking unsettled and faintly amused, respectively. The weight on his chest was the point of Sìle’s sword. The only reason it hadn’t impaled him was because it was occupied by impaling a sheaf of paper instead. He looked up at Sìle in surprise.

“I didn’t know you had a sword.”

Sìle growled at him. “I made a very sharp one, just for you.”

Miach rolled out from under the king’s blade and was on his feet with Turah’s sword in his hands before Sìle could begin to curse him.

“Impressive,” Turah said, his eyes wide.

Miach shot him a glare, then turned back to Morgan’s grandfather. “What did I do this time?”

Sìle held up the missive gored onto the end of his sword. “You slept through the writing of that, apparently. I did, too,” he admitted stiffly, “but I woke quickly enough when Sosar prodded me and said what he’d found.”

Miach blinked. “Is Morgan on watch?”

“Nay, she most certainly is not!” Sìle roared.

Miach had to rub his hand over his face and yawn before he felt even slightly more awake. He gingerly plucked the sheaf off the end of Sìle’s sword before the king could stab him. He read, his heart sinking more with every word.

Miach,

I’ll meet you in Durial. I have protection none of the rest of you do, which is why I must go on my errand alone. Keep my grandfather from following me, please.

I love you,
Morgan

“Well?” Sìle demanded. “What are you going to do about that?”

“Determine where she’s gone, first off,” Miach said wearily. He looked at the three men facing him. “I don’t suppose any of you has any idea. Sosar?”

Sosar held up his hands. “I almost gave my word I wouldn’t say anything. I made sure Father woke you, which didn’t seem unreasonable. I imagine you’ll come up with the rest on your own.”

Miach looked at his other two companions. Turah was merely watching Sìle continue to curse loudly. No aid from either of them.

He considered for a few minutes in silence, then realized what had been so odd about that morning.

Morgan had handed him something of Rùnach’s that he hadn’t lost.

He reached down into his pack and slowly pulled Rùnach’s papers out of it. He glanced at the top sheaf, the one he had shoved back inside when Morgan had given it to him that morning, then noticed that it had been creased differently from the rest. Obviously, he’d either slept too much or too little.

He turned the sheaf over and looked at the final words scrawled there, words he’d not wanted Morgan to read, words about what might or might not find itself in Ceangail.

There is a book in the library at Ceangail, hidden, a book containing all my father’s spells in their entirety. I looked for it during my youth, as boys do, but never found it. All the books are covered by a powerful magic that causes the titles to change even whilst you’re staring at them. It might take a while to find the right book. That and more magic than I have.

I didn’t have the strength to attempt a search myself. Not after what happened at the well.

Miach looked off into the distance and gave that a bit of thought. Rùnach had seen the book himself, which meant that it had at one point definitely existed. It was entirely possible that the book was still there, hiding amongst other things in that library. And if it did exist, and if they could find it, it might quite possibly solve all their problems.

All of Gair’s spells in their entirety. The very thought of that was almost enough to make him want to sit down.

Morgan had obviously gone off to look for it herself. Perhaps she thought Sarait’s amulet would give her protection that even he couldn’t match. How she thought that would help her strip spells of illusion off books, he couldn’t have said. It certainly wouldn’t be because she wouldn’t try.

His first instinct was to immediately go after her, but he forced himself to stop and think. It was another two days’ march to Dìobhail, and he doubted she would be making that journey on wing. He had time for a little investigation of his own.

His spells of defense were still far more intact than he was used to finding them. The only possible reason he could divine for that was that Lothar was concentrating his efforts elsewhere.

Perhaps closer than any of them would have liked.

He also wanted to see if he couldn’t find some trace of Cruadal. Morgan could best the fool with a butter knife whilst half asleep, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t still stir up mischief of some untoward sort. Even but a few hours spent nosing about might tell him where their enemies were.

And thereby save them grief later.

He realized belatedly that Sìle was shouting at him. He looked at the king of Tòrr Dòrainn and frowned.

“What?”

“I want to know when you’re going after her!” Sìle bellowed. “And why you didn’t see this coming!”

Miach leapt back and narrowly avoided finding himself impaled on the end of Sìle’s sword. It was then that he realized Morgan’s grandfather fully intended to try to kill him. And the king of Tòrr Dòrainn was not a poor swordsman, when it came right down to it. Miach clutched the sheaves of paper in one hand and fended off Sìle’s attack with the other.

“Well?” Sìle demanded, his chest heaving.

“I’m thinking on it,” Miach said, sending Sìle’s sword suddenly flying up into the air. He caught it, crunching the sheaves of paper as a result, then stabbed it point down in the dirt with Turah’s. “I feel sure she’s gone to Dìobhail to see what might be found there.”

Sìle gaped, standing there with his hands hanging down by his sides. “Then go follow her, you fool!”

“She told me not to.”

He wasn’t surprised by the volume or the violence of Sìle’s reaction to that. And once the king of Tòrr Dòrainn stopped swearing at him, he looked at him, coldly furious.

“You’ll send her to her death, just as Sarait went to her death,” he spat. “I cannot believe I trusted you with her.”

“Your granddaughter, Your Majesty, is perfectly capable of taking care of herself,” Miach said patiently. “She has sword skill, and spells, and Sarait’s amulet—”

“I
knew
’twas a mistake to gift her that!” Sìle glared at him. “You must follow her and make her listen to you. She does not know what’s best for her.” He cursed again. “What would have possessed her to go to such an accursed place?”

Miach wished he’d had a better time or place to give Sìle the tidings, but unfortunately he had neither. He bought himself a bit of time by replacing Rùnach’s work in his pack. Then he straightened and looked at Morgan’s grandfather gravely. “I didn’t tell you who gave me those sheets of spells.”

“I didn’t ask,” Sìle said shortly.

“Nay, Your Majesty,” Miach said quietly, “you didn’t, and I don’t blame you for that. But I think you should know who it was. You’ll recognize the name.” He paused. “There is no easy way to tell you this—”

Sìle blanched suddenly. “Not this again, you dratted boy.”

Miach smiled briefly. “It was Rùnach, Your Grace. He has been hiding at Buidseachd all these years, searching for a way to undo Gair’s evil. And until we’re finished with this task before us, he asked that we keep his secret for him. He has lost his power, though I can’t imagine how. Soilléir is keeping him safe—”

“From Droch,” Sìle said, fumbling for Sosar’s shoulder and leaning heavily on his son. “I should have killed that piece of filth long ago.”

“It isn’t worth the cost to your soul, Your Grace.”

Sìle’s mouth tightened briefly. “There is where you’re wrong, lad, but we’ll leave it there. We’ll see what happens when I go back to Beinn òrain for my grandson.” He straightened and put his shoulders back. “I see the wisdom in it. So, Rùnach, that clever lad, found you things you needed. It was obviously something that sent Mhorghain off on an ill-advised adventure.”

“He thought something useful might be found in the keep at Ceangail,” Miach agreed. “I think he would have a fairly good idea of what was there, wouldn’t you?”

Sìle took a deep, unsteady breath. “That hardly seems worth the risk to Mhorghain, no matter what Rùnach might think he knows.”

“She’ll be safe enough,” Miach said. “She’s very adept at sneaking in and out of keeps.”

“And you’ll leave her unprotected whilst she does,” Sìle said flatly.

“I never said that. Please, Your Majesty, do as Mhorghain asks and go to Durial. We’ll be along in a few days.”

“I most certainly will not!”

“Your Grace,” Miach said patiently, “if you come with me, then those who might be following us will continue to follow us. If you go—loudly—to Durial, they might assume your granddaughter and I are still traveling with you. I will be discreetly about a bit of my own business, find Mhorghain, then join you hopefully before you reach Uachdaran’s kingdom.”

Sìle started to speak again, then shut his mouth. He stared at Miach in silence for several very long moments. “I’ll think on it,” he said finally.

Miach nodded. He supposed he couldn’t expect anything else. “Perhaps it would be wise to go in different directions entirely,” he said. “To throw our enemies off our scent.”

Turah blinked. “Think you we’re being followed?”

“I don’t think so,” Miach said slowly, “I know so. We have been since we left Beinn òrain.” He didn’t say by whom, but he had his suspicions. He turned to his brother. “Turah, I think you should go home. You might see how Adhémar fares.”

“In Lothar’s dungeon?” Turah asked, blinking in surprise.

“Nay, not there,” Miach said impatiently. “Go home and ask Cathar what he’s learned. Tell him what we’re doing and that I’ll be along when I’m able. It will ease his mind.”

“I think seeing your lovely face will be the only thing to do that,” Turah said with a smile, “but I’ll do as you ask. Do you want me seen, or not?”

“Aye, be very visible,” Miach said. “And fly hard.” He turned to Sìle and Sosar. “If you two could take up your journey north in the same very visible manner, I think it would be of great use. Your glamour would hide the number of your company, yet lead whoever might be following on a merry chase.”

Sìle sighed heavily, then looked at Sosar. “Well? Do we march, or do we fly? Perhaps leaving our horses behind was a mistake.”

“Fewer mouths to feed,” Sosar said with a shrug. “I say we walk for a day or two, Father, to give Miach and Mhorghain time, then fly the rest of the way. Durial is perhaps, what, five days’ hard march from here?”

Miach nodded. “And the countryside is inhospitable, to say the least.”

Sìle pursed his lips, then spelled his sword into oblivion and went to fetch his pack. Sosar put out the fire and went to find his own gear. Miach handed his brother back his sword.

“Be careful.”

“I’m not the one with the well in front of me, brother.” He paused. “Are you certain you don’t want me to stay? I haven’t been of any aid to you, I don’t think. Well, besides vexing you whenever the opportunity presented itself.”

“Which made all seem right with the world,” Miach said with a faint smile. “Thank you for that. Your company was greatly appreciated. Now, go hold Cathar’s hand and tell him we’ll be there as soon as possible. Reassure him that I’m still minding the spells of defense.”

“I will.” Turah embraced him roughly, then took several steps backward and turned himself into an enormous eagle. He leapt up into the sky, cried out in a harsh voice, then turned and wheeled toward the west.

Miach looked to find Sìle watching the sky with resignation.

“He isn’t an elf,” Sìle said to no one in particular. “Not a full-blooded one, at least. He doesn’t know any better.”

BOOK: Princess of the Sword

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