Star of the Morning (21 page)

She smiled.

The sun soon began to sink. Morgan regretted that, as she regretted the last lingering bit of weakness she had. In the end, she had to dig deep for stores of strength she usually left dormant. In truth, that was not such an ill thing. It was seldom that she was called upon to test even the beginning of the end of what she could do.

The man cried peace, eventually, and offered her a sweaty hand in friendship.

“I want to know who trained ye, gel,” he said, his face dripping and his chest heaving. “I would pay much to be so fortunate.”

“I'm not inclined to speak of it now,” she said easily, “but I will perhaps tell you before we leave the keep.”

The man looked at her closely for a moment or two, then he nodded. “I'll ask ye again, then, 'afore ye go. But if you're intending to stay another day or two, I'd like to have another go.”

“My pleasure,” Morgan said, then looked about her. Finding the garrison in more or less of a shambles, she considered her duty done for the day and happily retreated to the great hall to look for supper.

Miach was sitting at one of the low tables and motioned for her to join him. She sat down and accepted a cup of ale gladly.

“How was the garrison?” he asked.

“Much as I expected,
Buck
. How did your labors go?”

He smiled a small smile. “Exhausting. I told you Hearn was a ferocious bargainer. He is taxing the very limits of what I can do.”

“Magic,” she said, shaking her head. “A most unmanly pursuit. What else is it you do, by the way?”

“I farm,” he said. “Grow things. Do good.”

“And your brother?” she asked. “Does he do anything useful? He is certainly full of tales of glory, though I don't know how they are possible given his lack of skill.”

Miach smiled. “He is not completely useless.”

“Nay,” she conceded, “but he always seems to think he has more skill at his command than he really does. It is as if he counts on something else that is simply not there. He would do better to rely only on his strength of arm. Now, what does he do to earn his bread?”

Miach paused for a moment or two. “He has a landhold,” he said finally.

“I am surprised he is not wed if that is the case.”

“So is he,” Miach said dryly, “though it is not for a lack of opportunities.”

“Perhaps he frightens the wenches off when he opens his mouth,” Morgan mused. “Does he travel often?”

“When pressed.”

“Why did he go to Melksham?” she asked. “Did he hope to find a willing wench there?”

Miach shifted. Morgan frowned to herself. He was not a good liar and she was fairly certain he was preparing to lie now.

“The question is not difficult,” she said, fingering her knife.

“It is when you have a blade in your hand.” He drained his cup, then answered. “Something was stolen from him and I'm not free to say what. He set off in the fall to search for it. When he did not return when I thought he should, I set out to look for him. And now here we are at Angesand's table working off the price of several of his finest horses. Quite a journey, isn't it?”

“Hmmm,” she said skeptically. There was more to the tale than he was telling. Perhaps she would take him out to the lists on the morrow and see if she couldn't wring a few answers from him then. “You have a reprieve now, but I will have my answers yet,” she warned him.

He only smiled. “I wouldn't doubt it.”

Aye, an early morning in the lists at her first opportunity. She nodded knowingly at him, then turned back to her supper.

She finished her meal eventually, then looked over the occupants of the great hall. Hearn's men, for the most part. The only guests, actually, were Miach and her. She looked at him.

“A close-knit group.”

“Hearn does not care for strangers. One of them might say a cross word to one of his horses.”

She nodded. “I daresay.” She fingered her dagger for a moment or two, then looked at him. “I am not usually given to worry, but I do here. It is obvious to me that the situation here was as you said. Hearn is very fond of his horses.”

“No reason to worry yet. You seem to have intimidated the garrison. Perhaps you can intimidate Hearn tomorrow.”

“That won't win us any horses,” she said with a snort. “I can't even imagine flattery serving us.”

“Nay,” he agreed. “Skill and skill alone will win the day.” He smiled briefly. “I suppose then, that 'tis up to you to see to it.”

She pursed her lips, then turned back to her contemplation of the great hall. It was a fine place indeed, but the stables even from the outside appeared finer. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised.

After supper was finished, they were offered beds in the hayloft. Morgan saw that her suspicions were correct. She had never in her life seen such fine accommodations for horses. Indeed, Hearn prized his steeds greatly.

Miach waited until their guides had departed before he spoke.

“This is a very great honor,” he whispered. “To trust anyone near his horses says much of his esteem for us.”

“Think you?” she whispered in return.

“Kings have no doubt longed to sleep in the hayloft. I daresay a very few have, and many more have wished to but been denied the pleasure.”

“Miach, I have no intention of complaining,” she said, feeling a little overwhelmed by the tidings.

“You might when I snore.”

“I might,” she agreed, “but if it is the price I pay for this honor, so be it.”

She stretched out in the hay next to him and stared up at the ceiling. He lay down as well, then turned toward her. She could sense he was studying her by the faint light from a lantern below. Heaven only knew what he thought of her, but she found that whatever it was, it didn't trouble her.

But in time it did begin to annoy her. She turned her head to look at him.

“What?”

“You said you could wield a sword at ten summers,” he said. “How did that happen?”

“If I tell you,” she said, “will you shut up and sleep?”

He laughed. “Aye, I might.”

She found that she enjoyed his laugh. It was full of sunshine and good humor, much like Nicholas's. It occurred to her, quite suddenly, that she had known few who laughed.

Well, perhaps that wasn't completely true. Paien laughed. Camid chortled evilly when the mood was upon him. Glines managed the odd snort of humor when he wasn't watching her with sad, longing eyes. But a man chuckling with simple delight? Nay, she knew few of those.

It was the laugh that disarmed her. To her surprise, she found herself hardly hesitating before she began spewing out details of her past that she had not seen fit to share even with Paien.

“I have few memories of my parents,” she said slowly. “I think I had siblings, though I cannot say for certain.” Indeed, she remembered little; what she did remember was dark and she did not like to dwell on it. “I suppose my earliest true memories are of the mercenaries who took me in.”

“How old were you?”

“Six, I think.”

“A scrawny, feisty slip of a girl?” he asked.

“How did you know?”

“You haven't changed much.”

She looked at him coolly. “I daresay you haven't nearly enough respect for my skill.”

“I'm relying on your mercy instead,” he said solemnly. “So, these altruistic lads took you in and then what? Trained you to be the terrifying warrior you are today?”

“Nay, they taught me to steal whatever I could, lie whenever I spoke, and portray myself as a helpless child before I killed whomever they told me to.”

Miach's mouth fell open. He leaned up on one elbow. “You jest.”

“I do not.”

“But that is not who you are today.”

“Are you so certain?”

He smiled briefly. “I may be helpless with a sword, but I read men's hearts very well. What happened to make you change your ways?”

“I began my courses and they deposited me on the steps of an orphanage. The cowards fled without a backward glance.”

Miach laughed softly. “That would do it, I suppose. Where was the orphanage?”

“At Lismòr, on the southern shore of Melksham.”

Miach frowned thoughtfully. “Isn't there a university there as well?”

“There is.”

“But I thought it was only for men,” he said. “Was not the orphanage the same?”

Morgan nodded solemnly. “Aye, but they thought I was a lad, at first. At least the headmaster of the lads did. I suspect now, looking back on it, that the lord of Lismòr, Nicholas, knew from the start what I was.” She sighed deeply at the memory. “He was kind to me when I did not deserve it. Then again, he has a tender heart.”

“Surely his lady wife was there as well, was she not?” Miach asked. “To oversee, um, womanly things?”

Morgan shook her head. “I think 'tis common knowledge, so I'm not telling you something you couldn't hear at a local tavern, but his wife and children were slain in a terrible accident. He does not speak of it often, but I know it grieves him even to this day.”

Miach winced. “I pity him, then.”

“Aye, perhaps you should, because he lost all his sons. On the other hand, there are dozens of lads whom he raised to be good men because of his loss, so perhaps it was not in vain.”

“Many lads and one lass,” Miach said with a faint smile.

“Aye,” Morgan agreed.

“So, how did you fare amongst all these lads and away from your mercenary ways?”

“Terribly at first,” she admitted. “I almost cut Lord Nicholas's cook to ribbons for not allowing me extra salt for my stew and I ruined Nicholas's flower garden that first year by beating off all the heads of his blossoms with a stick whilst pretending that they were my training partners.”

“Poor man,” Miach said with a laugh. “What did he do to save his subsequent blooms?”

“Had a sword made for me and acquired a garrison for himself.”

“What an interesting addition for an orphanage.”

“He was desperate.”

Miach smiled. “He must have cared for you a good deal.”

Morgan rubbed her eyes, not because she was weary but they burned suddenly. Damned tears. She'd been plagued with them since she first touched that terrible blade. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. “It is late,” she said briskly. “I think I am overtired.”

“Of course,” Miach said quietly. He fell silent for quite some time. “Thank you for trusting me with your tale.”

“Don't babble it about,” she said, turning to look at him severely.

“I am the keeper of many secrets,” he said simply. “I will keep yours as well.”

I am the keeper of many secrets.
Morgan had to think about that for quite some time, but she realized finally that Nicholas had said the same thing to her. She frowned. She could only hope that Miach wouldn't present her with something he needed taken to Neroche. At least it wouldn't be slathered with magic. She considered her memory of him changing out of a hawk's shape and decided she had imagined it. Perhaps a hawk had been there, then flown away as Miach had walked into the clearing. That was possible and quite a bit more likely.

She settled herself more comfortably, breathed deeply of the good, earthy stable smells, then put her hand on her sword.

She fell asleep as easily as if she'd been on that comfortable goose-feather bed in Lismòr.

Eleven

Miach reached in a dipper and tasted the water from Hearn of Angesand's well. He'd tasted worse. He had also tasted quite a bit better. It would have helped if he'd had something to work with initially.

It had taken him all of the morning the day before to find out which source of the well was making it so sour. He'd uncovered a very old spell laid by a not-unskilled wizard who had apparently been quite a bit fonder of Angesand's horses than he had been of the mortals there. Perhaps the wizard had borne a grudge toward Angesand's lord.

Once Miach had unraveled that spell, which had caused the humans' water to sour more with each passing year, he'd had to determine all the streams, all the inlets, all the points of moisture that ran together to make up the well water, as well as tending to the stones of the well. That had been his task that morning. He was making good progress, but even a spell to last a decade took time.

And Hearn wanted this enchantment to last a thousand years.

Miach had immediately agreed to the bargain. After all, Angesand's horses were without peer.