"We'll speak more of it later," Morgan promised, "when we're away from this accursed wood."
"Enspelled," Glines corrected her.
"I stand by accursed," she said. She put her arms around Miach. "Can you remain in the saddle this way?"
"I'll soldier on bravely," he promised. He supposed his manliness would survive being coddled like a toothless dotard, but he wasn't sure his heart would.
"You aren't really going to fall off, are you?" Morgan asked sharply.
"I'll do my best not to," he promised, but it was too late for that. He had fallen into an abyss that opened up without warning before him, an abyss named Morgan. He suspected there was no way out. Worse yet, he wasn't certain he wanted to find a way out.
I dreamed of a sword that looked just like the knife.
Her words came back to him, but he shook his head. He hadn't truly considered the possibility before, but he did now and without hesitation decided that Morgan could not possibly be the wielder. She had one spell to her credit, a vile dream that haunted her, and a blade that was the twin of the Sword of Angesand. Those things did not a wielder make.
Yet, what it she were?
Miach couldn't stop his poor, overworked mind from considering that. If Morgan was the wielder, then he would have to watch Adhémar take her and do with her as he pleased.
He closed his eyes at the feel of her arms around him. He would wait and see. Maybe she didn't really have any magic. Maybe her dreams really just were dreams and not memories. Maybe she dreamed of Mehar of Angesand's sword only because it resembled the knife in her pack.
He wasn't sure what he should hope for.
He was sure what he feared.
Chapter Eighteen
Three days later, Morgan rode atop her magnificent Angesand steed and examined her situation. Chagailt and her inhuman attackers were left far behind. Her leg was very much mended and had ceased to pain her. And, finally, Miach was upright in his own saddle. It was an improvement, but he still looked terrible, which was not. She wasn't sure if he had eaten something foul or if the battle with those nightmarish creatures had simply been too much for him. Perhaps she should have tried a few of Adhémar's herbs on him to see if they couldn't have aided him.
Though she had to admit that riding with him for all that time had not been unpleasant. He was good company. There was something about him that was very comforting.
Far beyond her favorite pair of boots.
She shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts. Best she leave those be and concentrate on something less troubling to her heart.
It she could manage it.
The rest of her company seemed happily oblivious to her distress. They were passing the time discussing potential locales they might visit on their way north, locales that might provide a bit of entertainment in what for them had been a rather uneventful journey.
Uneventful? Morgan wished she could agree.
Her unease grew with every league they traveled north. At first she had thought it might have been uncertainty over what to expect once she reached Tor Neroche. What was she to do, exactly? Walk up to the king and simply hand the knife to him? What if he would not see her?
She could scarce bear to think about that possibility.
In time, though, she'd come to realize that her unease sprang from a different but unsurprising source. Her dream had not troubled her in a pair of nights, but that didn't matter because now it had begun to haunt all her waking hours. It didn't matter how often she sought distraction, it was still with her.
She could hear the words the mother whispered to the girl. She could hear the words the man shouted at the well. She could hear the names that the man and woman called each other.
Gain.
Sarait.
She knew the number of the children and she knew some of their names. There were seven. Six lads and a wee lass. The eldest son's name was Keir.
The wee lassie's name was Mhorghain.
By now, she knew the way through the woods so well, she supposed she might have been able to walk them herself while awake. She knew the words that the mother had spoken to the little girl.
