Star of the Morning (25 page)

Morgan could hardly believe it. “And he is below?”

“In the box below this loft. He demanded it.”

“Astonishing,” she murmured.

“Try not to fall off again. I don't know if I can muster up two spells in two days. It may take me weeks to recover from the exertion.”

“I'll tie you to your horse and you can sleep there,” she offered.

“Good of you.”

“It goes along with the apology I changed my mind about.”

He smiled. “I'll take what I can get.”

She nodded. After all, he had healed her leg and her hand wasn't tingling anymore. And her dream was a distant memory that did not haunt her as she feared.

For the most part, at least.

“Will you tell me of it?” he asked.

She looked at him without surprise. “What? My dream?”

“Aye.”

“I've forgotten it,” she lied.

“You're still shivering.”

“I don't like magic,” was what came out of her mouth before she thought. And it was true; she didn't. But whatever magic Miach had wrought on her did not leave her ill or terrified. That in itself was alarming enough. She looked at him. “Perhaps it is only serious magic that troubles me. Yours does not seem to. Perhaps it is that you do not have very much.”

“Perhaps.”

She considered him severely. “Can you do any of that finger-waggling magic?”

“Finger-waggling?”

“You know,” she said. “Like the wizards do. They mutter and waggle and sit upon their sorry arses and meddle with things better left to others.”

“I try never to meddle,” he said solemnly. “And I never waggle.”

“Could you, if you wanted to?”

He wiggled his fingers and muttered. Then he smiled and shrugged. “Apparently not.”

She reached out briefly and put her hand on his shoulder. “Then be content with your limitations, Miach.”

“I'll try.”

She looked at the edge of the hayloft and wondered if she dared approach. She scooted forward until she sat with her legs dangling over the edge of the loft. The horse beneath whinnied in greeting. Morgan's eyes began to burn again.

She glared at Miach. “It has to be the spell.”

“What?” he asked, looking at her blankly.

Morgan gestured in irritation at the horse below. “Now, I'm weeping over a bloody horse!”

“He's quite a horse.”

She would have thrown a dagger at him, but she found that they were once again not on her person. Miach pointed. She followed his arm and found them all in a tidy row, actually in the order she preferred, well within reach of where she'd lain. She would have reached for one, but she wasn't certain she dared move again. Morgan looked down at the floor of the barn and wondered if she dared that either.

“It will hold.”

Morgan looked at him. “What?”

“Your leg. The break is mended.”

“Then why does it still hurt so badly?”

“I didn't mend it
that
well. I didn't want you walking on it overmuch. Pain is a good thing, sometimes.”

She paused and considered. “Miach, you can admit to me if the spell was too difficult. I'm grateful for what you were able to do. The pain is nothing.”

Miach crawled over, ruffled her hair, and was halfway down the ladder before she managed to get her hand in position to cuff him for the liberty. A moment later, he was looking up at her from the stable floor.

It was possible that he chuckled.

“You will regret that laugh,” she said.

“It was meant to stir your blood so you weren't afraid to come down the ladder.”

“I am,” she said, turning around and backing down the ladder carefully before stepping even more carefully on the ground and turning back around to look at him, “never afraid.”

He looked at her with a faint smile for a moment or two. “Then you are fortunate,” he said finally. “Now, will you walk a bit, or take a ride on your magnificent horse?”

“I'll try to walk first. Perhaps I'll make it to the hall and Hearn will feed us.”

“He might even give you a drink out of the good well.”

“I'll ask for two cups and share the other with you.”

“You are too kind.”

“Consider it a poor repayment for your spell.”

He nodded and waited for her to take a step or two before he walked on.

She left the stables with him, feeling more herself with every step. She even managed to cross the courtyard. Hearn was standing on the steps leading into his great hall, looking at her as if he'd seen a ghost.

“I wouldn't believe it if I weren't seeing it for myself,” he said. He looked at Miach. “Very well done, indeed.”

Miach shrugged depreciatingly.

“Will you have breakfast,” Hearn asked, “or saddlebags packed with something for the journey?”

Miach looked briefly at Morgan, then made Hearn a low bow. “Perhaps we should be on our way before too much of the day passes and Morgan's leg begins to pain her further.”

“As you will,” Hearn said. He frowned briefly. “Make certain your companions are conscientious and careful with their steeds. I'll know it otherwise.”

“I will warn them,” Miach said.

“As will I,” Morgan added, patting her sword pointedly only to realize she wasn't carrying her sword. It was up in the hayloft.

Truly, it had been a trying month.

“Are you ready to ride?” Hearn asked her.

A wave of unease swept over her. “I would prefer to stay for a lesson or two,” she said finally, “but I have not the time.”

Hearn shrugged. “I imagine you won't be comfortable, but I'll have a quiet word with your mount. He'll do what he can for you.”

“I wish I had time to learn his language.”

“Come again, when you can, and I'll teach you,” Hearn offered. “For now, take the horses, treat them well, and be about your business. My stable doors are always open to you.” He patted her on the shoulder and started past her. “I'll go prepare your horses.”

Morgan watched him walk away before she looked at Miach.

“A generous offer.”

“An historic offer,” Miach said faintly. “You know, I've never heard of any lord of Angesand offering to teach any who weren't close kin the horse speech.”

“He liked your water.”

“He liked your swordplay.”

Morgan nodded absently. “I should go back for my gear.”

“Wait here and I'll fetch it for you.”

Morgan couldn't deny that she was grateful for that. She paced gingerly in front of the hall until Miach returned. He was relieved of their things by Hearn's lads, who then packed them in fine saddlebags.

Hearn brought forth their horses and had a final word with each, particularly her horse, then he stood back and waited for her. Morgan wasn't one for long good-byes. Fortunately, it seemed that Hearn wasn't either. He boosted her up into the saddle, handed her the reins, and patted her booted foot.

“Ride well,” he said simply.

She nodded her thanks. Words seemed quite inadequate.

Hearn looked at Miach as he swung up into the saddle. “I'll hold you accountable for any mistreatment of these beasts by any in your party. Best keep a close eye on them.”

“I will, my lord,” Miach said gravely.

Hearn grunted. “I'll expect you back here at some point, I imagine, the both of you. Perhaps,
Buck
, you'll consider working on my other well.”

“It cannot be half as bitter as the first.”

“My horses have been drinking from it,” Hearn said, with a twinkle in his eye, “so that tells you something. A speedy journey to you, lad.” He took a step backward. “My lady Morgan.”

Morgan didn't feel at all as if she merited that sort of title, but then again, she was riding an Angesand steed. If anything was going to make her feel important, it was that.

They left the keep in grander style than they'd entered, riding ahead with five obedient horses trotting along behind. Morgan looked at Miach once they were clear of the village.

“Will they follow us, do you think?”

“I certainly hope so,” he said, with feeling. “I daresay I couldn't catch them, could you?”

“I could not indeed,” she said, feeling somewhat alarmed.

But the alarm proved to be ill placed. The five riderless horses followed unquestioningly, their gear jangling merrily, as if they merely rode off for a lark, not into darkness.

Morgan frowned thoughtfully at that. Perhaps she would do well to look at the journey from a horse's point of view.

Then again, she suspected the horses weren't dreaming her dreams.

 

 

It took them several hours to find their comrades. Morgan would have taken pleasure in their astonished looks, but her leg ached and her dreams nagged at her. She was very grateful to stand on solid ground and allow Miach to tell their tale. She unsaddled her horse and turned him loose, accepted a plate of what Paien had on the fire, then excused herself and walked off across part of the plain that seemed to be uninhabited.

Reannag followed her.

She was a little unsettled by how long it took her to notice that. At first she noticed the breathing, then the footfalls that came in fours and not twos. She looked behind her.

Reannag came to a halt and returned her look.

“I'm off for a walk,” she said.

He snorted at her.

Morgan almost smiled. She turned completely around and very slowly and carefully walked back to the horse. She reached out a hand and stroked his nose.

He made more snorting noises.

“Well,” Morgan said, almost at a loss. “Indeed.”

Reannag offered no opinion on the matter, but he did bump her hand. Then he followed her when she walked back toward camp.

Morgan wasn't sure how she felt about the responsibility of a horse, especially a horse that seemed to have taken a liking to her, but it was too late to complain now. Besides, it would allow her to take the blade to the king in good time. There had been a moment or two when she thought she might not manage that. Reannag would allow her to succeed and for that she would be grateful.

Perhaps it spelled a turn in the tide of events.

Unfortunately, that turning of tides did not last.

 

 

That night she dreamed.

 

 

She woke, her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes full of darkness. She would have moved, but her dream held her captive. All she could do was lie there and struggle to suck in breath.

She looked around her desperately. All her companions slept peacefully. Camid was not there; he was obviously on guard. Not that he could have helped her anyway.

Miach, however, sat across the fire from her, awake and watching her. Without saying a word, he rose and silently came around to where she lay. He sat down at her head, then stuck his feet out toward the fire.

“Was it bad?” he asked quietly.

“Very.”

He paused for quite some time. “I'll stay here with you, if you like.”

She was appalled by how comforting a thought that was. It was quite a while before she managed to say anything at all.

“My thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

“Wake me in an hour or two and I'll watch.”

He put his hand briefly on her head. “Morgan, I have much to think on this night. I have no need of sleep.”

“Wake me,” she commanded.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Go to sleep.”

She didn't think she would, but somehow his presence was far more comforting than she wanted to admit.

She fell asleep without trouble and did not dream.

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