Star of the Morning (28 page)

She made meaningless conversation with Glines until the brothers had traveled out of earshot, then she turned and followed them.

“Morgan!” Glines exclaimed.

Morgan waved him off and continued on her way.

She walked into the shadows of the forest quietly enough, then eased into deeper shadows. It was an easy thing to track Adhémar and Miach. What surprised her, though, was that she hadn't been able to hear them bellowing from where she'd been sitting.

“Chagailt?” Adhémar was saying incredulously. “Have you lost your wits?”

“I don't think so—”

“What can you possibly hope to accomplish in a pile of dusty old manuscripts?”

“I'll let you know when I return.”

“Fairy tales, Miach?” Adhémar said curtly. “You're taking time out of our journey to go read fairy tales?”

“I'm looking for something in particular,” Miach said calmly. “Nothing that concerns you—”

Adhémar began to curse. Morgan admired the depth and breadth of them, but she found herself quite a bit more interested in where Miach was going that had riled his brother so thoroughly. She had to admit there was a part of her that was feeling almost a little protective of him.

Poor, helpless farmer that he was.

She considered the topic of conversation. A pile of dusty old manuscripts? Who knew what she might find there herself?

“When will you go?” Adhémar growled.

“Now. I'll return in a day or two. Take my horse and see if you can linger in the area. I'll hurry.”

Adhémar cursed and stomped about in a circle before coming back to stand in front of his brother and curse him a bit more. Morgan took that opportunity to slip back to camp. She would ask Paien to take care of her mount, then follow Miach and see where he went.

She squatted down behind Paien, who was sitting apart from the others, watching Glines teach Fletcher how to game while being corrected in the finer points of cheating by Camid. An otherwise quite unremarkable evening. She put her hand on Paien's shoulder.

“I'm off for a day or two,” she said quietly. “See to Reannag, will you?”

“Where're you off to, gel?” Paien asked, looking up from his supper.

“Nowhere important,” she said with a yawn. “I'm tired of sitting.”

“You were tired of riding an hour ago,” he pointed out.

She pursed her lips. “If you must know, I'm off to shadow Miach.”

“Are you?” he asked. “Why?”

“I don't know.”

Paien looked over his shoulder at her. “I thought you liked Adhémar.”

“I can't stand Adhémar. Where did you get any other idea about it?”

“I have a vivid imagination. So, do you like Miach now?”

Morgan suppressed the urge to cuff him briskly on the back of the head. “I can't believe we're having this conversation.” She frowned. “Am I dreaming?”

Paien shrugged. “I'm awake, but maybe you aren't.”

“It was the boat.”

“Avoid them in the future.”

“I fully intend to.”

He smiled and winked. “Adhémar is a fine lad. Miach is a finer. You could do worse.”

“I don't intend to
do
at all.”

“It was merely a thought.”

“Aye, and a poor one.” She shook her head. “Why I talk to you, I don't know.” She rose. “Watch over my horse.”

He nodded. He didn't ask her why she wasn't taking the beast, which pleased her somehow. Perhaps he hadn't completely given her up for lost. Besides, she was a better tracker on foot.

She turned and walked back to the place where she had last seen the brothers. Adhémar was still arguing with Miach. Miach simply and quite suddenly turned and walked away while his brother was still at it. Adhémar bellowed after him for a moment or two, then gave up. Morgan stood in the shadow of a tree as Adhémar stomped past her, completely oblivious to her presence.

Adhémar continued to crash through the undergrowth as he headed away from her. Morgan waited until he was gone before she set out to track Miach. He was walking quickly, then he hesitated. Morgan stopped as well. He started up again, then stopped a time or two more. Morgan had no trouble anticipating his halts, but she gathered after a time that he suspected someone was following him. She waited until he'd started up again and gone quite a distance before she took up his trail.

He was a very fast runner and keeping up with him was surprisingly difficult. There were times she half expected he would begin to fly.

An appalling thought, to be sure.

She had to push herself to keep up with him. She was quite grateful that she'd had that time at Angesand to recover her strength else she would have been hard-pressed indeed to have matched his pace.

She ran through the night, stopping to eat and drink only when Miach stopped. Fortunately he seemed to have the good sense to never be too far from a trickle of a stream.

It was barely dawn when the forest suddenly ended. Miach slowed his pace, but he didn't stop. Morgan couldn't help herself. She skidded to a halt at the edge of the forest and gaped at the sight before her.

Well, it was Chagailt, obviously. And without meaning to slight anything on Melksham, she could freely say that she'd never seen anything so large or so fine in all her life. The battlements soared into the sky, the long wings of apartments were flung out grandly from the main part of the palace, and everything was surrounded by glorious gardens. It was spectacularly elegant and she could hardly believe she intended to enter it with her mud-encrusted boots.

Miach, however, seemed to feel no such hesitation. Morgan wrenched her attention away from the palace and back to him to find that he was far ahead of her.

She had to sprint to keep him in her sights. As an afterthought and almost before she knew what she was doing, she whispered the spell of un-noticing over herself.

That was appalling enough to almost make her stop.

Almost.

That she continued on as easily as if she'd indulged in magery her whole life said much about the state of her wits and the shocking lack of self-discipline she had currently at her command.

More running was obviously called for.

She heard Miach whisper something as well. Obviously the other spell he knew, which she suspected was the same one she'd just used. He wasn't doing it very well, though, because she could still see him plain as day.

And daylight was coming. She hugged the wall of the enormous palace and slunk along behind Miach, trying not to breathe loudly. He never looked behind him, so she assumed she was safe and un-noticed.

Then he walked up to the front door and knocked.

Morgan watched, openmouthed, as the door opened. A servant looked out, then started to close the door. Miach threw a small stone over the poor man's head into the palace and when the guard turned to see what the noise was about, Miach slipped inside. Morgan leaped forward to do the same thing. The only trouble was, she was not quite quick enough and the guard shut her cloak in the door. She would have merely opened the door and liberated it, but the man leaned back against the door, apparently waiting for something else untoward to happen.

Miach was disappearing down the hallway.

Morgan felt she had no choice. It was either rip her cloak or leave it behind.

She pulled. Her cloak tore with a horrible rending sound. The guard squeaked in surprise, but Morgan didn't stay to apologize. She bolted down the passageway after Miach.

She took the time to get her bearings, lest Miach lose them both and they not be able to find the front door again, then she continued to follow him. Perhaps his spell was better than she thought, for even though she could still see him, he passed by other souls without their marking him. They didn't look at her either, but she knew her spell was working. Her experiences with the brush in the barn told her that much.

Miach paused several times, as if he wasn't quite sure where he was going. He even scratched his head a time or two in a fashion that was so reminiscent of Adhémar, she almost snorted.

There were many turns and twists, however, and she came to a point where she stopped blaming Miach for his head scratching. She was completely turned about and wondered if she would ever escape the palace without aid.

It seemed like forever that she wandered the halls behind him, but in the end he stopped, looked about him, then opened a door and disappeared through it.

Morgan followed quickly and only caught herself before she fell down the steep steps because she was lucky. She was almost certain she had squawked in surprise, but Miach didn't stop his descent so perhaps she had imagined that. That she couldn't tell was a little unnerving.

She was beginning to suspect she needed a nap.

The steps seemed to descend into the very bowels of the palace. The passageway wasn't overly damp, but it was very cold. She drew her cloak about her, grateful she'd managed to pull most of it free of the front door.

The stairs ended eventually and Miach came to a stop before a doorway. He opened it and a weak light spilled out. She hung back in the shadows and waited until Miach had gone inside. Luck was with her again for he left the door open behind him. Morgan slipped into the chamber, but just barely. She clapped her hand over her mouth and flattened herself against the wall as Miach reached around her to shut the door. He was so close, she could feel his breath upon her hair.

But he said nothing. He only turned, dropped his pack onto a table, then began to poke about what she could now see was a library. Morgan found a chair and silently took off her pack and set it down on the floor beside her. She watched Miach as he perused manuscripts, much as she had done at Lismòr, though with far less fervor than she had used. If he was curious about something, he was certainly being nonchalant about it all.

Finally, he chose a pair of very dusty books and carried them over to the table. He fetched a pair of candles, lit them, sat down, and began to read.

Morgan watched.

In time, she felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy.

She fought the relentless march of weariness, but in the end she lost the battle. She started to sleep. She feared she might drool. She knew she had snorted.

She knew this because she snorted herself awake.

She clapped her hand over her mouth, wondering if she'd given herself away. She looked quickly at Miach, but found that she needn't have worried. He was sound asleep with his head down on one of the manuscripts, his face turned toward her, making snorts of his own.

He was also drooling.

Master Dominicus would have had his head for that.

Well, at least his snoring covered up what was a tremendous growl from her stomach. She put her hand over her quite empty belly and willed it to be quiet. Perhaps Miach would grow hungry as well and go off to seek something to eat so she could be about her own business.

She folded her arms over her chest and frowned at him, willing him to wake.

Fifteen

Miach suppressed a smile at the horrendous noises Morgan's stomach was making. He did his best to continue to snore, but he suspected she might not believe him for much longer. It had been a very long night and most of a very long morning. He wondered if the rest of the day would move as slowly. Hopefully not, for Morgan's sake.

He was quite impressed by her ability to track him, especially since he'd cast his own spell of invisibility over himself. That she could apparently see through it was astonishing.

Why had she chosen to follow him? Was she afraid he would get lost? Had Adhémar sent her after him?

He immediately dismissed the last. She wouldn't have done Adhémar's fetching for him. If anything, Adhémar could have asked and she would have said nay just to spite him. No doubt she had reasons of her own. Perhaps he would discover those in time. For now, it was enough to enjoy having Morgan and Chagailt together.

Chagailt was, as it happened, one of his favorite places. It had once been the center of Neroche, both governmentally and culturally. That had changed when Gilraehen the Fey had been king, courtesy of a particularly nasty battle with Lothar. The capital had been moved to Tor Neroche, which had once been the king's hunting lodge. Tor Neroche had been rebuilt in the ensuing years and fortified with magic that began at the foundations, rose to the tops of the towers, and left it impervious to all assaults. It was a safe place, but rather uninspiring when it came to the surrounding countryside.

The palace of Chagailt, on the other hand, was in a beautiful part of the country where it rained a great deal and everything was green. Flowers bloomed effortlessly, gardens grew enthusiastically, and trees were so thick that at times they were troublesome to the inhabitants of the area. The palace itself held a special place in Miach's heart. He had passed several summers here with his mother, tending the gardens, tending his magic. Adhémar didn't like it; he said it rained too much. Miach found the weather rather to his liking. There was something quite spectacular about seeing the sun, finally, after weeks of solid rain.