by Lynn Kurland
“I only know because your mother came to see me whilst you were captive there,” Nicholas said mildly.
“My mother?” Miach echoed, stunned. “How did she know who you were?”
“Because she was notorious for knowing things she would have been better off not knowing. She tracked me here and came to ask if I knew anything that might help her. You must understand that she was well aware how delicate a balance it was between Lothar keeping you alive and slaying you simply because he could. She was exceptionally powerful, but Lothar is capricious. Smior could have told you that, I suppose.” He studied his hands for a moment or two. “There is, I believe, more to besting Lothar and his evil than simply slaying him. Besides, slay him and he has a dozen lads standing behind him to take his place.”
“Yngerame should have killed him whilst he had the chance,” Miach said grimly.
“I imagine you’ve talked to Yngerame about that already, haven’t you?” Nicholas asked. “He had his reasons for leaving his son alive. He and Symon bound him once, as you well know, even though they knew the spells would not last forever. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had foreseen your turn as archmage of Neroche and left Lothar as your challenge—just as Mehar saw Morgan as a wielder of the Sword of Angesand.”
“Do you think so?” Miach asked in surprise. “About us both, I mean.”
“I am speculating about you,” Nicholas said, “though it is a rather educated guess. I’ve talked to them both about you many times. They are particularly impressed with how you’ve handled your duties. And as for Morgan, aye, I know that Mehar saw her hand on the sword. She told me so herself.”
“Who don’t you know?” Miach asked in astonishment.
Nicholas smiled. “When you’ve walked as long on the world’s stage as I have, Miach my lad, you’ll find that the Nine Kingdoms are not as large as you once thought. You know your share of souls from legend.”
“I suppose so,” Miach admitted.
Nicholas sobered. “As for Lothar, I imagine there will come a day when you must make the same decision Yngerame and Symon made: either to kill him or to let him live.”
“I don’t relish the thought,” Miach said grimly.
“Neither did they, I imagine,” Nicholas said. “But we’re moving away from simpler things. Weger’s heritage doesn’t surprise me, nor does his choice of occupations. And speaking of magic, have you told your lady what she needs to know about hers?”
“You know I haven’t.” He looked at Lismòr’s lord crossly. “Tell me again why I’m the one giving her these tidings and not you?”
“Penance.”
Miach would have laughed, but the subject was too serious. “I suppose,” he said wearily.
Nicholas smiled. “I’m needling you a bit, lad. You did what you had to in the fall. As for the other, ’tis simple. She will accept the tidings from you because she knows you will tell her the truth. Me, she would discount.”
“I don’t think so, but I know what you’re getting at. I owe her a fair bit of truth and this is as good a place as any to begin. She’s been avoiding it, though, as thoroughly as I have. It has been pleasant to remain within your walls and not have to face our future overmuch.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Thank you for telling me about my mother.”
“You’re welcome, lad,” Nicholas said with a smile. “Some day, when you have a chance, come for a visit and I’ll tell you more about her more noteworthy escapades. Desdhemar was a remarkable woman and you’re fortunate to have her blood in your veins.”
“I know,” Miach said quietly.
Nicholas rubbed his hands together suddenly. “Let’s speak of less sentimental things. Have you decided what you’ll do after you leave here? If you can pry yourself away from my supper table, that is.”
Miach smiled. “It will be difficult, I assure you. As for what I’ll do, I thought to make a journey to Beinn òrain.”
Nicholas nodded. “Wise. They’ll have kept a list of anyone who’s shown promise of magic over the years. I imagine you’ll find several souls there to add to your list. But what of Morgan?”
“I’ve asked her to come with me.”
“And she said you aye?”
Miach had to smile. “I worried there for a bit that she wouldn’t, but she agreed in the end. In spite of my magic, no doubt.”
“You should stop in Tòrr Dòrainn,” Nicholas advised. “But I imagine you’ve already thought of that.”
“Aye, I have,” Miach agreed reluctantly. “I have a question or two for Sìle—not that he’ll be willing to talk to me.”
“He won’t have much choice when he realizes that his granddaughter loves you.”
Miach smiled briefly. “Do you think she does?”
“I do,” Nicholas said, “though it may not serve you much today. I would suggest that you make certain she doesn’t have any blades to hand when you tell her what you must. I don’t imagine it will go well for you otherwise. I think I’ll leave you to it before she wakes.” He rose and walked over to the door. He put his hand on the wood, then looked at Miach. “Be careful with her, won’t you?”
Miach cleared his throat roughly. It was either that or grow as misty-eyed as Nicholas was.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Miach said quietly. “I wouldn’t think to do less.”
“Which is why I’m trusting you with her,” Nicholas said simply. He turned and left the solar, shutting the door softly behind him.
Miach rubbed his hands over his face and wondered how in the hell he was going to manage to spew any of what he needed to say before Morgan turned and bolted. Being the seventh child and only daughter of a black mage so arrogant and so evil that no one spoke his name without loathing was not going to be something that was easy to accept.
Then again, he had a few unsavory characters in his own family tree, so perhaps he would have a few things to tell her eventually to make her feel better.
He sat and stared at her, wanting nothing more than a few more minutes of looking at her in peace. He’d spent weeks at her side without telling her who he was, or what he was, and they had both paid the price. He couldn’t do that again. Not now.
He watched her for quite a while before she finally stirred. She opened her eyes, looked at the ceiling for a moment or two, then turned her head and saw him.
She smiled.
It smote him to the heart.
“You’re still here,” she said.
“Where else would I go?” he asked gravely.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “You could have flapped off anywhere.”
He took her hands in his. “I told you I wouldn’t leave.”
“So you did,” she agreed. She rubbed her free hand over her face. “I didn’t mean to sleep.”
“You needed it. Perhaps you’ll be able to stay awake tonight for a game or two of cards with me. I learned everything I know about cheating from Glines of Balfour.”
She smiled. “It won’t serve you, given that he taught me as well.”
“He taught me different things. He promised that quite faithfully.”
She snorted. “And he’s too far away for you to do damage to him when you realize he lied to you. But I will indulge you, if you like, just so you’ll see the truth of the matter.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Then we’ll save that as something to look forward to later.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I fear, Morgan, that we can put off the unpleasant no longer.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then sat up, pulling her hand from his. “So our days of peace are now ended.”
“They need not be,” he said. “Truth is that cold, bracing wind you feel ripping through you on the parapet at Gobhann, but it will pass and you will be here again at Lismòr, in this place you love, where you are loved.”
Her eyes were unusually bright. “Must you be the one to give me these tidings?” she asked, pained.
“Would you prefer Nichol
as?”
“Would I prefer Nicholas,” she echoed. She looked at him in outright shock. “Nicholas of Lismòr? What would he know of any of this?”
Miach shrugged with a casualness he most certainly did not feel. “He gave you Mehar’s knife and sent you on your quest, didn’t he? I daresay he knows more than you might think.” That was an understatement, but he wasn’t going to elaborate at present.
“I think I prefer you,” she said grimly.
That was fortunate, as he doubted Nicholas could be found to question. He nodded. “Do you care to talk while you are sitting down, walking, or flying?”
“Walking,” she said without hesitation. “In the exercise yard where no one will see.”
Miach decided at that moment that the only thing he had possibly dreaded more than what he had to do in the next hour had been dawn in Lothar’s dungeon.
So, he approached it as he had that unenviable task: he kept himself busy. He put Morgan’s boots on her, helped her to her feet, fetched her cloak for her, and suggested strongly that she leave her sword behind. He put his hand on the door only to find that she had caught him by the arm.
“Miach, you don’t look well.”
He took a deep breath, then opened the door. “Air,” he said succinctly.
She ducked under his arm and left the solar in front of him. He shut the door behind them, took another deep breath of air that was substantially colder than it had been earlier, then nodded to his left. He started walking only because he needed to be about some useful activity.
Perhaps he was worrying needlessly. It was possible that Morgan would take the tidings very well, look at him the same way after the fact, and not flee for Gobhann.
He felt her slip her hand into his.
“Miach, when did you eat last?”
He looked at her in surprise. “I ate lunch with you. Why?”
“You look green. I don’t want you sicking up anything on my boots.”
He realized, with a start, that she was teasing him. He might have been impressed if she hadn’t looked so green herself. He managed a smile.
“You, wench, are formidable.”
“Weger’s training.”
“Actually, I think ’tis just you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’m impressed.”
“See what you think later,” she managed.
He nodded, then walked with her slowly through the maze of passageways out to the yard beyond inner walls. She seemed content to simply walk and be silent, so he obliged her. After all, ’twas her past they had to discuss. It wasn’t his place to push it on her until she was ready.
Well, any more than he had already.
They paced around the perimeter of the yard a handful of times before she stopped. She looked at the ground for several minutes, then looked at him.
“All right,” she said. “Tell me.”
He started to open his mouth, then had to take a deep breath. “I have spent countless hours thinking on how to begin this, but now I find none is a good place.”
“Did you think about it?” she asked in surprise.
“Well, of course. Once I knew what I had to tell you, that is.” He paused.
“Can you bear this, in truth?”
She looked at him for a moment, then turned and slipped her arms around his waist. Miach wrapped his cloak around her and gathered her close, resting his cheek against her hair.
He thought she might have wept.
He was certain he had.
“If Weger could see us both,” he managed eventually.
“He would gouge out his marks,” she said darkly.
He shook his head. “Nay, gel, he would understand.” He pulled back, wiped her tears from her cheeks, then dragged his sleeve across his own eyes. “We’ll weep more later, perhaps in Nicholas’s solar where no one will see us.”
She nodded, then stepped back. She took his hand. “Very well. I can bear this now.”
“Very well.” He took her hand and walked along the edge of the yard with her. “Here is how I learned about the things I must tell you. After you left the palace on that fateful evening in the fall, I followed you. Not quickly enough to stop you from drinking Lothar’s poison, but quickly enough to catch you as you fell—”
She looked up quickly. “Did you? I didn’t know that.”
“I should have been there sooner, but Adhémar was bellowing, as you might imagine, and I was forced to silence him. I ran after you, but it was too late. Before I could gather my wits to challenge Lothar, he had disappeared. I couldn’t leave you to follow Lothar, yet I knew that I couldn’t leave him free within the realm. I was trying to determine the best course, when a white-haired man suddenly appeared in front of me and told me to follow him. I was tempted to kill him and find out who he was after the fact, but he said he could heal you. I was desperate enough to listen to him, but I had no intention of releasing you to him.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He laced his fingers with hers. “Of course. I followed the man out into the kitchen garden only because I thought if we were outside, I might have a better chance of fighting him off. I’ll admit now that I was worried. His power was tremendous, and I feared it would take all mine to drive him away. Once we were outside, he instructed me to hand you over, that he had the wherewithal to drive out Lothar’s poison. I thought him mad and wasted no time in telling him so.”
“Who was he?” she asked.
“He said that he was the wizard king of Diarmailt. His wife was Lismòrian, the sister of Sarait who was the wife of Gair of Ceangail.”
She shivered. “And did you believe him?”
“He knew too much for me not to,” Miach said frankly. “It was from him that I learned the tale of Sarait’s daughter, Mhorghain.”
Morgan stumbled, then caught herself. She took a deep breath. “Go on.”
“He told me that he had watched over Mhorghain for years—”
“Why?” she interrupted. “Why would he bother?”
“Because he was Mhorghain’s uncle, for one thing. Because Sarait had asked him to watch over her children if something happened to her, for another. The final reason is, it was critical that no one know who Mhorghain was—or where she was.”
“But why?” Morgan asked, her voice nothing more than a whisper. “Why would anyone care about her?”
“Because of who she is,” Miach said quietly. “Her parentage alone is enough to make her dangerous—and tempting—to many. She is the granddaughter of Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn through her mother and the granddaughter of Eulasaid of Camanaë through her father. There are black mages and power-hungry kings who would have given anything to have ensnared her in her youth and turned her to their purposes. Her birthright and her blood make her power immense. Lothar, especially, would have given much to have taken her to Riamh. The reasons for that perhaps do not matter—”
She stopped. “Miach, if you’re going to tell me anything, you must tell me everything.”
“There are, and I speak from experience,” he said seriously, “some things about Lothar’s methods of stealing another’s power that are better left in the dark where they belong.”
She watched him for a handful of moments in silence, then reached up and touched his cheek briefly. “I’m sorry he stole a year of your youth,” she said quietly. “I would repay him for it, if I could. And now you must tell me how he does what he does. I think I need to know.”
He bowed his head for a moment, then caught her hand and kissed her palm. “Morgan, please—”
“You must, Miach,” she said grimly. “I haven’t been his prisoner, but I have tasted his brews. I think that entitles me to a few details, don’t you?”
Miach dragged a hand through his hair, then caught her hand with his and pulled her along with him. “Now, I’m the one who must walk. And I will tell you what you want to know, but I do it unwillingly and I will give you only the barest of details. Lothar, as you might imagine, takes great pleas
ure in the terror of his quarry. He has devised ways to feed that fear and drain the terrified mage’s power as a result. He never plied his trade on me, but he made certain I saw him do it to enough other fools. If he had captured Mhorghain in her youth, he would have either trained her to use her power for evil without a second thought, or he would have worn her down with terror until she was too weak to fight him. Then he would have taken all her magic and left nothing behind but a husk.” He paused. “What was left of her would have been an especially significant trophy to display.”
She shivered. “Vile wretch.”
“It is who he is. He also bears an especial grudge for all who carry Camanaë blood in their veins. Eulasaid of Camanaë had him thrown out of the schools of wizardry for meddling in things he shouldn’t have. He has never forgiven her or any of her descendants for it. And to capture Eulasaid’s granddaughter?” Miach took a deep breath. “Irresistible.”
She had begun to shake so badly that Miach stopped her. He looked down into her blanched visage, then winced at the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
“So,” she said, her voice breaking on the word, “you learned all this about that poor girl. An interesting fireside tale.”
He put his hands on her face and wiped away her tears. “Morgan, the tale is yours,” he said quietly. “Those aren’t dreams you’re dreaming, they’re memories. You are the woman who inherited power not only from her sire, but elven magic from her mother. Your uncle proves it beyond doubt.”
She put her hands over his. “And who is this wizard king who claims to know all this?”
Miach took a deep breath. “His name is Nicholas.”
“And he truly saw all this? He watched over…her…all these years?”
“He watched over you,” Miach corrected. “He watched over you in secret whilst the mercenaries had the care of you, then he watched over you himself.”
She looked at him for a moment in confusion, then realization dawned. Her mouth fell open. “Nicholas? Nicholas of Lismòr? He is the wizard king of Diarmailt?”
Miach nodded gravely. “He named Lismòr after his lady wife, Lismòrian, who was your aunt. Lismòrian was the eldest of the five daughters of Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn—”
