Glines smiled briefly. "He mutters when he loses."
"Which I imagine was quite often. If that is the case then you know that I am not on holiday and my brother has not merely escaped for pleasure. He is searching for something in particular and I came to find out why it was taking so long for him to find it. I thought perhaps I should offer him my aid."
Glines produced wine and poured a cup. "And now you've found somethingyouhadn't intended to find? "
"What would that be?" Miach asked.
"Morgan." Glines handed him wine. "You love her, don't you?"
Miach choked and grasped desperately for the wine Glines proffered. "What in the world are you talking about?"
"I recognize the symptoms, if not the illness," Glines said dryly.
"The illness of what?" Morgan asked from behind them.
Miach spewed the wine out of his mouth. He supposed it was better than choking on it, but neither was a good choice. When had Morgan and the lads returned? Had he napped for that long? Had she heard Glines's babbling?
"He's excitable," Morgan said, dropping her pack down next to the fire and squatting next to Miach. She looked at him. "Recovered?"
"Completely," he managed.
She pursed her lips. "You're optimistic."
"Always. How many were there?"
"Thirty," she said without expression. "I do not remember killing so many. I daresay you didn't either." She looked at him closely. "How did we manage that, do you suppose? Not a mark on many of them. It's as if they simply died of fright."
"Ah," Miach said, casting about desperately for a plausible reason, but finding that nothing came to mind. He was, he would be the first to admit, not in top form at present. A normal spell of that magnitude would have drained him for days and left him quite happily taking to his couch to rest and recover. But the spell he'd wrought against those creatures from one of Lothar's nightmares?
He wondered if he would manage to walk steadily in a se'nnight's time.
Unfortunately, he had no choice.
"It's Chagailt," Glines said.
Miach turned to look at him. "What?"
"Chagailt," Glines repeated. "There are spells laid upon the forests here around. Didn't you know?"
"I didn't," Miach said, "but I'll hear the tale."Pray, make it believable.
"What would you know of it?" Morgan asked skeptically.
"More than you, apparently," Glines said with a smile. "I have traveled upon the continent before, you know. One picks up tales here and there while one is about his travels."
"Tales from men well into their cups do not generally count as truth," Morgan said dryly.
"There is a little truth in each cup of ale," Glines said.
Miach smiled. "Is there, indeed?"
"If not, there should be." Glines looked at Morgan. "I heard that there are spells of ward and protection laid about the palace of Chagailt. It was built, you know, for Iolaire of Ainneamh by her husband, Symon of Neroche, as a wedding present. What spells she did not weave into the surrounding countryside, he certainly did. I heard that the magic is still very much in force and will hinder any creature who comes upon unwary travelers with evil intent."
Miach stole a look at Morgan to see if she was going along with Glines's myth. She glanced at him; he fixed an expression of surprised relief on his face, as if he'd just heard the answer he'd been seeking. She shot him a look of faint skepticism before she turned back to Glines.
"What else was said?"
"Nothing that I remember," he said vaguely. "I'm merely suggesting that perhaps there were forces at work that you couldn't see. Forces that aided you when you needed it." He rose and stretched. "I wouldn't resent help in any form, were I you. "
