"You are not me," Morgan said, standing as well, "but I will not begrudge myself the aid either." She shivered. "I had counted, but not well apparently. I do not doubt my skill, but even I have to admit we are fortunate to be alive."
Miach nodded, trying to look as innocent and grateful as he could. It wasn't difficult to look grateful, because he was?for solid ground under his feet and no need to move anytime soon.
"We should press on," Morgan announced.
So much for rest. Miach nodded. "Aye, you're right."
"You sound unconvinced. Do you not fear meeting more of those?" Morgan asked.
He started to tell her that he sensed none of them, nor anything like them for miles, but he hadn't sensed the first lot either. A powerful spell had certainly concealed them.
He wished he had the energy to return and examine the corpses. He wished he had the opportunity to have a closer look at Adhémar's sword. Then again, hehadmanaged a decent look at the lads near Tor Neroche and seen nothing that told him about the author of the evil. Perhaps here, the result would be the same.
He didn't want to give voice to the thought, but he suspected this would not be the last time he met this particular sort of magic.
He heaved himself to his feet, swayed, then found himself with Morgan's arm around his waist.
"You're pitiful," she said, turning him toward the horses. "Can you make it across the glade?"
"Possibly," Miach said, tossing Glines a brief smile before he turned back to Morgan. "With help, of course," he added.
Glines cursed.
"Glines, be useful," Morgan said. "Bring his pack and yours. I do not like the feeling here." She looked at Miach. "Can you manage a horse?"
"Um," he began.
"Likely not," she said, "We'll ride together and mine will follow."
Miach decided at that point that silence was likely the wisest course of action. Besides, who knew that but that he might fall off his horse, take a fatal blow to his head, and leave the mantle of archmage falling upon someone who wasn't expecting it? It wasn't unheard of, that.
Though it was true that most archmages were made from someone within the royal family, it was equally true that the calling had fallen upon the occasional unsuspecting wizard or even, in one particular case, a farmer with latent magic. The poor man had been out plowing his field, come close to being crushed by the power that had suddenly surged into him, then woken to find he had suddenly become responsible for quite a bit more than just his fields.
Miach could sympathize with him, actually.
So, lest he cause another soul such wrenching distress, silence was the order of the day. Perhaps if he was feeling particularly faint, he could ask Morgan to put her arms around him and hold on until he felt better.
"So, where are we going?" Glines asked as he followed along obediently.
"Still north."
Glines began to wheeze.
"Notthatnorth," Morgan said.
"Well, if we're headed anywhere north, we should pause at Penrhyn," Glines supplied helpfully. "They make a delicious wine."
They did; one Adhémar was far too fond of. The kings of Neroche had, from time to time, bargained with the kings of Penrhyn for a particular type of gem they had periodically used to make their magic. The need for that had long since ceased, but the need for Penrhyn's sour wine had not. The entire history of trade relations was long and tedious, but what Miach could say that the sour wine was potent and Adhémar's taste for it was legendary. He would be immediately recognized and his anonymity compromised.
"Better to avoid them," Miach put in. "Rumor has it they are a stingy lot. We would likely be forced to pay huge duties coming in and out of their country. Best we stay on lesser-known roads."
Morgan stopped next to his horse. "There is wisdom in that, no doubt." She gave him a leg up, then fixed his pack to her horse before she swung up behind him. Miach spent far too much time enjoying what he shouldn't have been enjoying. By the time he thought to look around, the rest of the company was mounted and Morgan and Paien were discussing a direction. Adhémar was balking. Apparently the lure of sour wine was far too strong.
"I vote for Penrhyn," Adhémar said firmly.
"We have another hard days travel before we must needs make a decision," Miach said, casting his brother a pointed look. "Let us ride today and decide tomorrow. One way or another, today we must go north."
"North?" Paien said. "How far north?"
