Read Princess of the Sword Online
Authors: Lynn Kurland
Princess of the Sword (9 page)
Uallach looked at him. “You know me?”
“Of course, Your Grace. Your fame extends far beyond the bounds of your own land.”
The king harrumphed a bit in pleasure, clapped a hand on Miach’s shoulder, then went to gather his queen back up to her feet from where she lay sprawled on the grass. Queen Murdina looked as dazed as her husband did. Once she had gotten her bearings, she went into her husband’s arms and wept. Miach left them to it because he understood. He was damned tempted to weep himself.
He would have searched for Morgan but his way was blocked by the mages who had glided over to stand in front of him. Miach didn’t know either of them, but he was the first to admit he didn’t spend enough time in Buidseachd to know who was who.
“You look like Gilraehen of Neroche,” the mage on the left said.
The mage on the right shook his head. “Nay, Anghmar of Neroche,” he insisted. He frowned at Miach. “You a relation?”
Miach smiled. “I might be.”
The man frowned. “I heard a rumor he was slain, rescuing one of his witless sons from the dungeon at Riamh.”
“The son was indeed witless,” Miach agreed, unoffended, “and he was indeed rescued. And aye, his father the king died as a result. His mother too, unfortunately.”
The man on the right clapped a hand on Miach’s shoulder. “You’re not a bad chessman, lad. Fine command of magic for being a simple village brat.”
“He didn’t say he was a simple village brat,” the other mage said, drawing the first aside. “He said he might be kin to the king of Neroche—the late king, rather.” He shot Miach a look. “Perhaps a cousin. Let’s go nose about in the library and see if we can find his name.”
“They won’t let us in the library any longer. Not after the last time.”
“That was decades ago. Surely they’ve forgotten by now. And if not, we’ll feign hunger and sit on the bench by the door. You make a great production of calling for food, whilst I sneak off to look for books of Nerochian genealogy to filch.”
Miach watched them go, then turned to see if Morgan was standing, sitting, or waiting for him to come closer so she could stab him. He’d barely caught sight of her when his line of sight was obscured by a flurry of wings. Eight giggling, fluttering, very silly faeries were crowding around him, touching his hands, his hair, his face, and, heaven help him, fighting over who would be the one to kiss him first.
He wondered if it would be impolite to bolt.
He managed to catch sight of Sosar, who was only standing there laughing at him.
“Help!” Miach called.
Sosar put his arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “I believe I have my hands full here.”
Miach looked desperately about for Turah, but his brother was only smirking as well. Even Sìle was smiling just the slightest bit. He would have shot the king a pleading look, but he was borne to the ground and overcome before he could.
And he thought he’d survived the most dangerous part of the afternoon.
Five
M
organ wished, not for the first time that day, that she’d had her sword. She wasn’t sure on whom she would have used it first: Sosar or Miach. Well, perhaps not on Miach. He couldn’t help the fact that he was currently under assault. Her uncle, however, could most certainly have helped his unnecessary mirth. It was levity sorely misplaced after what they’d just watched. She glared at him, then turned to see how Turah was taking the events of the day.
organ wished, not for the first time that day, that she’d had her sword. She wasn’t sure on whom she would have used it first: Sosar or Miach. Well, perhaps not on Miach. He couldn’t help the fact that he was currently under assault. Her uncle, however, could most certainly have helped his unnecessary mirth. It was levity sorely misplaced after what they’d just watched. She glared at him, then turned to see how Turah was taking the events of the day.
He looked as gray as she felt, though he seemingly managed a smile in spite of it. “Well,” he said, “that’s done.”
“Your brother takes terrible risks,” she managed.
“He always has. Perhaps you should talk to him about it.”
“I’ve tried, but he ignores me.” She took a deep breath. “I need a chair.”
“So do I. And since you’re Miach’s servant, why don’t you be a love and run fetch us one?”
She looked up at him in surprise only to have him wink at her. She wasn’t sure she knew him well enough to do damage to him, but thought an elbow to his ribs wasn’t anything more than he deserved. He laughed weakly.
“I can see you’re not inclined to do any fetching,” he said, “so perhaps we’ll just soldier on as best we can until Miach is finished with his, er, business there. I don’t suppose you’d want to hurry him along, would you?”
“Aye,” Sosar agreed. “I should think you would want to rush over and defend your lord’s abused honor. Those lassies are notoriously . . . well, they’re notorious.”
Morgan gave them both looks of warning that they should have taken more seriously, then turned back to the spectacle in front of her. Was it not enough that she’d spent the past half hour wondering how she could possibly save Miach before he was killed; now she had to watch him be fawned over by half a dozen truly lovely women?
“Faeries,” Sosar corrected. “And there are eight of them.”
“Are you reading my thoughts now, my lord?” she asked shortly.
“You’re muttering.”
She didn’t want to think about where she’d learned that bad habit, but she suspected it might have been from Miach, who had learned it from Adhémar. Reason enough not to investigate any further.
She took a deep breath and clasped her hands together under her cloak where no one would be able to watch them tremble. It had nothing to do with the faeries; it had everything to do with the battle she’d just witnessed. She wasn’t terribly fond of chess. She’d played it with Weger to humor him, and bested him a respectable number of times, but she far preferred to be out on the battlefield instead of merely playing at it.
The speed of the game had been swift, the battle ruthless, and the outcome far from certain. Indeed, the entire thing had come about too swiftly for her to decide what, if anything, she could do to be helpful. She wouldn’t soon forget the sight of Miach becoming increasingly bound by Droch’s spell.
She tried to distract herself with the sight in front of her, but that was no better. The faeries had now formed a very ladylike, sedate line in front of Miach, who had managed to get back to his feet without help.
Well, the faeries were sedate until the first of them took what was apparently more time than she was allowed. All-out war ensued with pauses only for one faery to shove another of their ranks aside and take her place immediately in front of the hapless archmage of Neroche.
Morgan wondered, absently, just what they were. Some species of elf, perhaps, though they were not so unrelentingly beautiful as her relatives were. These creatures were alluring in an entirely different way, as if they’d been flowers that were so sweetly luscious that any bee with sense wouldn’t have passed them by.
And damn them all if they weren’t
still
fighting each other to be the one closest to Miach. They hovered behind him, in front of him, on either side of him, their gossamer wings fluttering coquettishly.
still
fighting each other to be the one closest to Miach. They hovered behind him, in front of him, on either side of him, their gossamer wings fluttering coquettishly.
Morgan gritted her teeth and wondered if this was indeed what jealousy felt like.
The only thing that eased her any was how profoundly uncomfortable Miach looked. He was very red in the face and looked pathetically grateful when the knights who had fought for him demanded their own turn. After those goodly lads had discussed the battle to their satisfaction, the stewards took a turn. The faeries began to murmur unhappily. Apparently discussions of strategy that didn’t involve how to get themselves as close to the exceptionally handsome prince of Neroche as possible didn’t interest the ladies much. They fluttered off, disappointed and disgruntled. In time, the rest of the players wandered off as well.
Miach rubbed his hands over his face, then heaved a sigh and walked over to where they stood near the wall. He stopped in front of her.
“How are you?” he ventured.
“Unkissed,” she said tartly. “Not that you find yourself in a similar situation.”
He laughed uneasily. “I would see to remedying that for you if I could, but perhaps later, when we’ve a bit of privacy.” His smile faded. “That was unpleasant.”
“I will be happy to see the last of this place,” she whispered. “I’m sorry we came.”
“Reserve judgment for another hour,” he said. “We might just find what we need, then we’ll count the journey worth it.” He looked at their companions. “Thank you all for staying.”
Sìle grunted. “What a disgusting display from that reprehensible mage.” He paused. “I will allow that you did well.”
Miach made Sìle a bow. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Now, if you wouldn’t mind taking—”
“I’m not leaving you,” Morgan interrupted shortly, certain that was what he intended. “No discussion.”
“I’ll come keep watch over her,” Sosar offered. “Father, perhaps you and Turah might distract a few souls and provide Miach with an extra measure of privacy.”
Morgan watched her grandfather consider, then nod briskly.
“Very well,” he conceded. “We’ll be off and see to a few things of a more clandestine nature, if Prince Turah manages to keep his mouth shut for a change.” He took Turah by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away. “Come with me, young one, and let me teach you a bit about not answering questions you don’t care to. Your mother was a master at it. Did you learn nothing at her knee?”
Morgan would have smiled at the look of panic Turah threw them over his shoulder before he was dragged off, but she was still standing in a garden full of vile spells and all she had the strength for was to hope she could stumble out of them.
The servant Droch had spoken to made Miach a bow, then turned and walked off as if he expected to be followed. She was quite happy to do so, simply because it meant she could leave Droch’s garden behind her. She would be long in forgetting the sight of the chess pieces still lying motionless on the board behind them.
“Who were those people?” she asked Miach quietly as they walked through passageways that were only slightly less unpleasant than the garden had been.
“Kings ensnared by a lust for power, queens ensnared by the desire for riches, knights wishing for something extra in battle to impress those who might want to hire them. They went looking for those things in places they shouldn’t have.” He shrugged. “Olc can be a very seductive magic. Once a mage who had no bloodright to it realizes how much of his soul the learning of it costs, the price has been paid and he is too enamored of the power it gives him to try to pull away.”
“Like Gair?” she whispered.
“Aye,” he said, just as softly. “Like Gair. Droch has a right to it, so it hasn’t killed so much of his soul. Then again, I daresay he didn’t have much of a soul to start with.”
She frowned. “Then why did the faeries find themselves trapped? Surely they weren’t interested in power.”
He smiled. “They’re lovely, but not very smart. They were most likely just caught with a net.”
She bumped him companionably with her shoulder. “You are a dreadful man.”
“I’m still blushing.”
“I don’t know that I’ve seen you blush before when kissed.”
“Given that you have your eyes closed most of the time when we’re about that pleasant activity, I daresay you don’t know what I do, do you?”
She wanted to smile, but they were walking along passageways that were suddenly all too familiar, and she couldn’t. She swallowed, hard. “I’m so sorry you’re going in there.”
“I’ve been in worse places,” he said easily. He shot her a quick look. “Thank you for waiting for me, though. I daresay it will help.”
“You can thank me later.”
“I will, when I can burst into tears safely away from prying eyes.” He took a deep breath, then stopped. “Here we are.”
Morgan realized he was right. Her uncle shuddered visibly as they stopped in front of Droch’s door. She watched their guide pull an hourglass from his pocket, look at Miach, then set the glass on the floor.
“One hour, Archmage of Neroche.”
Miach nodded, looked at Morgan again, then walked into the chamber and shut the door behind him. Morgan leaned back against the wall and wished for the comforting chill of her swordhilt beneath her hand, not the horrible, bone-numbing bitterness that seemed to freeze more than just her body. She hadn’t noticed it the night before—perhaps she’d been too terrified to—but Olc’s darkness seemed to not only chill her form, it began to work on her mind as well. Unreasonable fears assaulted her, fears of things that lurked in shadows in the depth of night when there was no light to drive them away.
She took a deep breath, then looked around Sosar at the glass on the floor. Unfortunately, only a barely discernable amount of time had passed.
She looked up at her uncle, but his eyes were closed and he was breathing very carefully. Perhaps he was walking in the garden at Seanagarra where songs of Fadaire whispered through the leaves and his father’s spells kept the worst of winter away.
She closed her eyes to attempt the same thing, but once she did, she was immediately assaulted by visions of the serpents she’d seen inside Droch’s chamber the night before. No aid from that quarter. She opened her eyes and looked about her for some other, less evil distraction.
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