Star of the Morning (10 page)

“I wasn't watching over him,” she said with a scowl. “I was . . . well, I was making certain he didn't attack me. You see, he came up behind me with untoward intent—”

“You attacked
me
!” the man said, suddenly struggling to his feet. He staggered about for a moment, clutching his head, then he stopped, swayed, and glared at her. “I thought you were a man!”

Apparently looks and sweetness of tongue didn't always go together. Morgan frowned. “You were mistaken—”

“And you're a girl!” the man exclaimed. “I've never been bested by a girl—and I'm not admitting to being bested now, of course. I was taken by surprise and in a most unchivalrous manner.”

Morgan looked at Paien, who seemed to be struggling not to laugh. He reached down and handed the man his pack.

“We've all had our share of surprises with Morgan here,” he said easily. “I'm Paien of Allerdale. Who are you?”

“Adhémar,” the man said with a scowl.

Morgan rolled her eyes. Adhémar? Yet
another
fool bearing the current king's name? Why couldn't men name their sons after mountains or famous makers of swords? If she'd had a son, she would have named him Buck.

But thinking about Adhémar the king reminded her of what she carried in her pack.

Her pack that she had left by a tree far too far away for her comfort.

“I'll be back,” she said to Paien as she strode past him.

“Come, Adhémar,” Paien said, “and let us see to a fire. I heard nothing following me, but we've made enough noise here recently to be attacked by all manner of unpleasant things. You know, I'm for Bere. What of you?”

Morgan left them to their speech. If something had happened to that blade . . .

It was with a very unwholesome sense of relief that she found her pack just exactly where she had set it down, twenty paces into the forest. She picked it up, then hesitated. It seemed untouched, but who was to say? She closed her eyes briefly, opened the drawcords, then thrust her hand down inside. She felt around until she found a long, slim wallet of leather. She didn't have to pull it from her pack, or unwrap it, to know it contained the blade.

She could feel the whisper of magic, even through the leather.

She jerked her hand out, yanked the drawcords, then slung the strap over her shoulder. She wiped her hand against her leg, but her hand continued to tingle just the same.

She had not had a very good day so far. A poor night's sleep, a long and tedious walk, a handsome man, and magic. Could it get any worse than that?

She hoped not.

In time, she turned and walked back through the woods until she found Paien in a little clearing, feeding a cheery fire by himself. She dropped her pack on the ground and sat down. “Where's Adhémar?”

“He went to collect what gear you left him with.” Paien looked at her knowingly. “Turned your head, did he?”

“He most certainly did not,” she said.

“You left the lad with most of his gear.”

“An altruistic impulse.”

Paien only laughed. “I daresay.” He chuckled again as he tended his fire. “He's of a finer quality than we grow here in Melksham. Perhaps it is that you have a discerning eye.”

“I was impressed at first,” she admitted. “But I feel more myself now. Besides, I have no time for that sort of thing.”

“Don't you?” Paien looked at her with interest. “What are you about?”

She hesitated. It wasn't that she didn't trust Paien, for she did. Though he was old enough to be her sire, he fought with the strength and agility of one much younger. He was a giant of a man with hands as big as serving platters and a heart equally as large. Aye, she could say she trusted him. For her, there was no higher praise.

But she hadn't decided exactly what she would tell anyone who asked about her journey. Nicholas had not sworn her to secrecy, but then again, he hadn't needed to. She wasn't one to say more than she needed to about anything she was doing. But perhaps she could trust Paien with her destination at least.

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when Adhémar walked into the circle of firelight.

“Is supper ready?” he asked imperiously. “I'm starving.”

Morgan frowned. How was it a man could be so handsome when he was unconscious, yet not so handsome when he was awake?

Perhaps she had hit him harder than she'd intended. He spent a good deal of his time wincing, as if his head truly pained him. If that was the case, perhaps he could be forgiven his bad manners.

Then again, truth be told she wouldn't have offered to help Paien with supper either. He was a much better cook than she and she repaid him for his efforts by always taking the first watch so he could savor the last bites of his meal in peace. Morgan let Paien cobble together a passable supper and avoided looking at Adhémar. It was likely the safest thing to do. Bere was close and perhaps she would make very good time on the morrow. Perhaps Adhémar would go his way at dawn and no longer be of concern to her.

She suspected that would be a very good turn of events.

 

 

 

Two days later Morgan followed Paien through the congested streets of the port of Bere, not enjoying the crowds in the least. Too many people jostling her, too many smells distracting her, too much noise making it difficult for her to concentrate.

She looked behind her briefly to see how Adhémar was managing. He still seemed to be following them, and she wasn't all that pleased about it. His face was beautiful, but every time he opened his mouth, she wanted to clunk him over the head again with her sword.

She and Paien had passed their brief journey to Bere in companionable silence, reliving past escapades, and reveling in past triumphs—of which there were many. Adhémar had offered more than his share of impossible tales of battle, simply saturated with delusions of grandeur. He seemed to think he'd had men at his command, then remembered in the midst of a glorious tale that he'd had none but himself.

Perhaps that bump on his head had done more damage than he cared to admit.

Running into Paien's back startled her from her thoughts. She opened her mouth to curse him, then peered around him.

There, before her, bobbing quite innocently in the water, was a ship.

She stared at it, openmouthed. She hadn't realized they were so close to the water.

“What a beauty,” Paien said admiringly.

Morgan decided it might be best to refrain from comment.

“Morgan!” came a call from nearby. “Paien!”

“Ah, look who's come,” Paien said. “Friendly faces, indeed.”

Morgan pursed her lips. It was becoming a reunion of sorts; before her now stood the other mercenary companions she'd left behind. Apparently their business had been concluded successfully, for they seemed quite happy to be in Bere instead of camped out in a muddy field.

Glines of Balfour came to halt in front of her, bowed low, then straightened and smiled. He was a tall, fair-haired man who wore thirty winters on his shoulders and many pouches on his belt filled with gold he'd won from souls with lesser skill at dice than he. Glines was the youngest son of a minor lord who reportedly had a bastard elf lurking somewhere amongst his progenitors. Whether that was true or not, she couldn't have said. What she did know was that Glines vanquished his foes with elegance and a bit of distaste, as if he would have preferred to be discussing politics at dinner.

Next to him stood a red-haired dwarf, short in stature and sharp in feature, who fought with less elegance than Glines but quite a bit more enjoyment. Camid of Carr had traveled the Nine Kingdoms extensively, hiring out to the highest bidder and forever seeking to improve his résumé of escapades in order to impress potential employers.

“Who are these?” Adhémar asked.

Morgan introduced them all briskly. She would have said more, but Glines was staring at Adhémar as if he'd just seen a ghost. She could have sworn he started to bow, but Adhémar reached out and clutched him by the shoulder. Perhaps Glines had been preparing to swoon at the sight of Adhémar's admittedly very fine boots. She couldn't credit him with being impressed by Adhémar's face.

“Glines,” she warned, “Adhémar has little left in his purse. Find some other mark for your afternoon's entertainment.”

Adhémar glared at her. “How would you—
aha
! I wondered where my gold had gone.” He drew himself up. “No matter. I will win more anyway. I am quite skilled in cards. Indeed, it might be said that there is not a better player in all of Neroche—”

Morgan didn't bother to comment. Far be it from her to bruise his ego along with his head. If he wanted to endow himself with qualities that were not his own, he was free to do so. That didn't mean she had to listen, though.

“Boast elsewhere,” she said shortly. “Indeed, I'm certain you have other business to see to—out of earshot, hopefully. Don't you?”

Adhémar pursed his lips. “I didn't find what I was looking for on the island. I will begin again in Istaur.”

“Is that where you're off to, gel?” Camid asked her.

“That is what we heard,” Glines agreed, still looking at Adhémar with wide eyes. “When word was sent for us to meet you here.”

“Word was sent?” she echoed. “By whom?”

“Lord Nicholas, of course,” Paien said with a slight smile. “He sent a message to me as well. Didn't you know?”

Morgan wasn't sure if she should have been furious or relieved. What she knew, quite suddenly, was that Nicholas considered the blade to be quite a dangerous thing if he had entrusted it to her but then enlisted three of the most deadly men she knew to accompany her. She felt a little weak in the knees, and she never felt weak in the knees.

Of course, that could have had something to do with the ship in front of her.

Camid rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “I understand you're taking this ship today.”

Morgan nodded confidently, far more confidently than she felt.

“Where to?” Camid asked. “Or do we discuss it in a more private setting?”

“Best to do that,” Morgan agreed, thinking that discussing it at all was a bad idea.

“Then let us find somewhere to eat and make our plans,” Glines said. “Somewhere comfortable, of course, for His—”

Morgan watched Adhémar stumble into Glines. Clumsy oaf. He seemed to have quite a bit to say to Glines—in a low whisper—and Glines seemed to somehow know him. Either Adhémar was consorting with minor nobility, which she couldn't imagine, or he had encountered Glines in some tavern, already lost a goodly sum to him, and wanted it back, which she could readily believe. It was a mystery she would have to discover later. For now, it was best that she keep herself on her feet and not think overmuch on what she would be doing after the sun had set.

She followed the men into a tavern, only slightly surprised when Adhémar held the door open for her. “Are you still here?”

“Morgan!” Glines gasped.

Morgan pushed past Adhémar and took Glines by the arm. “Why are you so friendly with him?” she whispered fiercely. “I know he is fair to look upon, but I warn you, Glines, that his bad manners more than make up for it. Do not encourage him.”

“Ah, uh, I thought I recognized him,” Glines said, looking unaccountably nervous.

“And I thought he was a mark you intended to fleece at cards,” she said. “I will admit that he would make a good one.”

“Well,” Glines said thoughtfully, “that would pass the afternoon quite nicely, wouldn't it?” He looked over her head. “Cards, my—”

“Certainly,” Adhémar interrupted. “Of course, the wench here will have to give me back the rest of my gold before I can wager anything.”

Morgan looked up at him, placidly. “Why would I have any of your gold?”

“You're wearing my socks.”

“I keep telling you, lad,” Paien said with a laugh, “to be grateful the damage was limited to that. Camid, I think we've finally found a lad to turn her head. Can you believe she left him alive?”

“But robbed,” Adhémar said distinctly.

Paien only smiled over his shoulder. “It could have been worse.”

Morgan agreed, but she didn't bother to say as much. She allowed Glines to pull out her chair. After two years of trying to convince him she did not need such courtesies, she had given up. She did scowl at him, though.

“You will never make a true mercenary,” she said.

“So you say,” he said, sitting down next to her, “and yet I manage to brandish my sword and do damage with it.”

“You do more damage with your gaming.”

“I game, you fight.” He smiled at her. “I think we should wed and live our lives happily on our strengths.”

Morgan was grateful there was no cup of ale in her hand, for then she would have already drunk and she would have wasted a mouthful by spewing it out. To her surprise, Adhémar was making the same sound of disbelief.

“Wed with her?” Adhémar said. “A man wouldn't dare!”

Camid's look would have felled a lesser man. “Careful, lad,” he said quietly. “An insult would need to be repaid.”

“By me,” Morgan put in pointedly.

Adhémar ignored her. “You are very protective of a wench who obviously needs no protection.”

“Don't mind him,” Paien said, waving expansively. “Camid would be just as protective of Glines.”

Paien looked at Adhémar with a friendly smile, but Morgan saw the steel beneath it. No doubt Adhémar didn't.