Princess of the Sword (36 page)
Read Princess of the Sword Online
Authors: Lynn Kurland
She embraced him in return, then stepped back and looked up at him. “Sosar first,” she said quietly. “We’ll mourn later.”
He nodded, then turned to gather up their company and send others to search for the horses. Morgan took the hand Miach offered her, but stumbled as he pulled her away.
“You’ll ride,” he said without hesitation.
She would have protested, but he didn’t give her the chance. In his place suddenly stood a sleek, black dragon. She climbed between his wings and took the reins he’d provided her, very happy for something to hold on to as he leapt up into the air and clawed his way through the spells that covered the glade.
She was exceptionally glad for that first decent breath of clear air.
Morgan, I’m sorry about Keir.
Thank you.
You did well.
She clutched the reins, then leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was weary beyond any weariness caused by a long march or a terrible battle. Her heart was sick and she didn’t think even a month of healing at Gobhann or an equal amount of time drinking Nicholas’s brews would heal it.
Do what must be done first; grieve later.
She’d never dreamed a stricture would be all that held her together after a battle made up of terrible magic.
She supposed Weger wouldn’t have been surprised.
Eighteen
M
iach flew hard against a wind that continually beat in his face and tried to slow him down. He couldn’t credit Lothar with that sort of power, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. He wanted to believe that Lothar wasn’t omnipotent, though, so he chose to assume the wind had more natural origins.
iach flew hard against a wind that continually beat in his face and tried to slow him down. He couldn’t credit Lothar with that sort of power, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. He wanted to believe that Lothar wasn’t omnipotent, though, so he chose to assume the wind had more natural origins.
He wished he could have dismissed the rest of the morning’s tragedies as easily.
He’d only had a brief glance out of the corner of his eye at Keir holding up the well’s cover, but it had been long enough to see Cruadal’s sword coming out of Keir’s chest. There had been nothing he could do. It had taken all his strength and cunning merely to keep Lothar at bay. He’d heard the well close and realized only then that Keir hadn’t escaped that closing.
He wished he’d had time to wrap his arms around Morgan and let her weep. She had accomplished something far beyond what anyone could have reasonably expected her to. Not only that, but she’d managed the feat in the face of all the chaos swirling around her and whilst knowing that Keir would perish as a result. Just the spells of opening and closing she’d wrought should have left her so drained she couldn’t move. That they hadn’t said much about her strength.
He’d wanted to be of more use to her, but it had been all he could do to fight off the spells that Lothar had been tossing about as casually as he might have handfuls of coins.
Aye, he would take her in his arms and hold her—but they would first see to Sosar. They would find Lothar, then he would spell the whoreson into undreamed-of agonies until he agreed to give up what he’d taken.
And then he would kill him.
He didn’t see the other dragon coming his way until he almost collided with it. He was halfway to singeing it before he realized who it was. He wheeled away, then began circling downward, looking for a decent place to land and have a parley. He resumed his proper shape on the bank of a river, then turned to pick Morgan up from where she’d fallen to the ground.
“I’m well,” she managed, accepting his hand up. “I just need to lean on you.”
He put his arms around her and pulled her close. He supposed the gentlemanly thing to do would be to refrain from pointing out to her how badly she was trembling. He conjured up a pair of cloaks once he realized neither of them was wearing one any longer. He wasn’t sure when he’d shed his and he didn’t think he dared ask Morgan the same.
He wrapped them both up, then looked at the man hunched over five paces away, gasping for breath.
“Nemed, what are you doing here?” Miach asked in surprise.
Nemed straightened with a groan. “Cathar sent me to find you. Rigaud went to Durial to look for you, and Mansourah went to Ainneamh for aid. I suppose I’m fortunate I chose the right direction.” He took a deep breath. “We need you.”
“I was on my way,” Miach said. “I suppose you can thank Lothar for that. He told me we should prepare for a battle—”
“Prepare?” Nemed interrupted incredulously. “Miach, we’re in the
midst
of one! Cathar’s gathered together a formidable force, but we feared just the four of us trying to stand against Lothar and his minions wouldn’t be enough.” He shivered visibly. “His army is not all of this world.”
midst
of one! Cathar’s gathered together a formidable force, but we feared just the four of us trying to stand against Lothar and his minions wouldn’t be enough.” He shivered visibly. “His army is not all of this world.”
Miach felt Morgan’s arms tighten around him and realized belatedly that he was now leaning on her. He straightened with an effort, then gave thought to what his brother had said.
And then he realized what wasn’t right.
“Four,” he repeated slowly. “Nemed, don’t you mean the five of you?”
Nemed blinked. “Don’t you know?”
Miach hated those sorts of questions. “Know what? Who’s at home?”
“Cathar, Rigaud, Mansourah, and me.”
“Where’s Turah? I sent him home almost a se’nnight ago.”
“Aye, and he decided that he would sneak into Riamh and rescue Adhémar, the fool.”
Miach flinched in spite of himself. He wasn’t sure whom Nemed was calling a fool, Adhémar or Turah, but he supposed either—or both—deserved it. Adhémar could perhaps be forgiven for his foolishness; he hadn’t intended to find himself inside Riamh. Turah had no excuse. He knew very well what a body looked like after having been in Lothar’s dungeon.
“The bloody idiot,” he managed. “What possessed him to do something that stupid?”
Nemed lifted an eyebrow briefly. “I would like to say ’tis because he had suddenly developed an overinflated sense of importance, but you know as well as I that arrogance is the least of his faults. He told Cathar that he’d learned of as-of-yet undiscovered depths of magic in himself and thought it might aid you if he went to fetch Adhémar and Adaira so you didn’t need to.” He smiled briefly. “To spare you a trip back where you wouldn’t want to go and all that.”
Miach closed his eyes briefly. “I told him he had more magic than he thought, but not
that
much.” He looked into Morgan’s upturned face. “He doesn’t have enough to confront Lothar.”
that
much.” He looked into Morgan’s upturned face. “He doesn’t have enough to confront Lothar.”
“Nay,” she said quietly, “not that.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Nemed said, “he planned to use his blade as much as possible, but I think things have gone badly for him. We’ve had no word and none of us has the talent of searching for his essence. Not that we’d be able to feel it anyway if he’s inside Lothar’s keep.” Nemed paused for a moment or two, then looked at Miach seriously. “We’re not cowards, Miach, but a trip inside Riamh is not something to be taken lightly.”
“Nay, brother, it isn’t. I’ll go do the fetching. But what is this about Rigaud and Mansourah? How long ago did they leave?”
“Day before yesterday,” Nemed said. “I thought you would probably be on your way home, so I elected to stay with Cathar as long as possible, then try to catch you closer to the border. We should hurry, though.” He paused. “I think this might be a very ugly war.”
“Hopefully Ehrne will lend us a few lads,” Miach said, “though I don’t know what Rigaud hopes to accomplish in Durial.”
“He’ll leave Uachdaran his cloak and likely return with a contingent of very sturdy fighters,” Nemed said with a faint smile. “You know Rigaud. He has a gilded tongue.”
“When it suits him,” Miach agreed. He put his hand on Nemed’s shoulder. “I’ll go on and find Cathar’s camp. Continue on for a bit and find our company, would you? The king of Tòrr Dòrainn and Morgan’s lads are behind us, all flying.”
Nemed nodded. “We’ll follow hard on your heels.”
Miach watched Nemed leap up into the air, then turn east. He waited until his brother was nothing more than a speck in the distance before he sighed and looked at Morgan. “Well?”
“I’m grieved about Turah,” she said quietly. “There is no justice in being rewarded with harm when his only desire had been to save you pain.”
“Nay, there isn’t,” Miach agreed, “and I hope he hasn’t paid a terrible price for that willingness. Then again, for all we know he simply got lost. We might find him happily putting his feet up in some tavern.”
She nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. He wasn’t either, but it was better than thinking about the alternative.
“Let’s be on our way,” she said. She looked at him critically. “Perhaps I should carry you this time.”
He smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but I imagine I would fall asleep and fall off. At least flying will keep me awake. We should be there by dark, if we fly hard. I’ll have a rest then.”
She nodded, though he supposed she didn’t believe him any more than he believed himself.
Nay, they wouldn’t be resting anytime soon.
The sun was setting as he landed in the middle of the army’s encampment. Perhaps he’d been more weary than he’d thought, for Nemed and Sìle’s company descended only minutes later. Miach gathered them all up, then went to look for his brother’s tent. Cathar’s look of surprise when they walked in was complete.
“Nemed found you,” he said, sounding vastly relieved.
“We were on our way,” Miach said, shoving aside the almost overwhelming desire to sit down and fall asleep, “but aye, he found us.”
“What made you come home now?” Cathar asked.
“Lothar told me to,” Miach said with a yawn.
“He
what
?”
what
?”
“I’ll tell you the details later.” He yawned again, because he couldn’t help himself, then had help finding his seat by means of Morgan pushing him down into one. He looked for a chair for her, but she had already sat down at his feet, resting the Sword of Angesand over her knees. He sighed deeply, then looked at Cathar. “I need to see how my spells are faring, but I think I’d like your tidings first.”
“You won’t enjoy them, but you’ll have them.”
Cathar motioned for his page to serve ale all around, then began to relate the events of the past fortnight. Lothar had been busy, apparently, and not only at the well.
“I’m convinced he’s been amassing an army for quite some time,” Cathar continued, “though they are very poorly trained. If it weren’t for their sheer numbers, I wouldn’t have lost any sleep over them.” He paused. “It is as if Lothar expected to have some sudden source of power to compensate for the failings of his lads.”
Miach shivered in spite of himself. Obviously Lothar had decided that he was close to opening Gair’s well, and once that was done there would be no reason not to use his newfound power and conquer Neroche whilst he was about it.
“We have five thousand lads,” Cathar said, “but I’m not sure how we’ll fare against what he has across the border. ’Tis impossible to have an accurate count, what with the spells of un-noticing that we can’t see through. I don’t think he has more than five or six thousand himself, but again, I’m not sure.” He paused, then looked at Miach carefully. “It occurred to me that he might have found a way to harness what spews forth those creatures we’ve been battling.”
“I think he intended to,” Miach agreed.
Cathar’s expression was very grim. “And will he succeed?”
Miach shook his head with a smile. “Nay, he won’t. And you can thank Morgan for that.”
Cathar closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment or two, then let out a deep, shuddering breath. He lifted his head and looked at Morgan. “You brilliant gel. You did it, didn’t you?”
“Aye,” she said quietly, “but I had a great deal of help. Miach kept Lothar from killing me and my eldest brother made it possible for me to actually close the well.” She paused. “He perished in the deed.”
“Prince Keir is alive?” Cathar said in astonishment, then he winced. “I didn’t listen carefully enough. I’m sorry, lass, to learn he fell.”
She leaned back against Miach’s knees. “I don’t think he was sorry, for he knew what it would mean to those he left behind. It was a terrible sacrifice, though.” She took a deep breath. “ ’Tis done, and for that I am very, very grateful.”
“It was well done, Morgan,” Cathar said quietly. He looked at them all, then put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. “You all look impossibly weary. Let me see you fed, then pallets set up here. King Sìle,” he said, making Sìle a low bow, “you will of course take the most comfortable couch—”
“Don’t worry about me, lad,” Sìle said, waving him off. “I’ve slept in much worse places recently and I’m hardened to the labor. Give the comfortable place to my granddaughter and we’ll all soldier on with what’s left.”
Miach smiled to himself at Sìle’s world-weary tone. Truly, the elven king had endured things his own father never would have tolerated.
He watched for a moment as Cathar began to rearrange things to see everyone settled, then he leaned forward to put his arms around Morgan. He rested his cheek against hers for a moment or two, then turned and kissed her softly. “Morgan?”
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