He walked along with Adhémar and her as they inspected the horses. He wondered why in the hell he had bothered to say anything to his brother about her. Spite spawned spite, apparently. Unfortunately, he couldn't imagine that his brother was paying any attention to her out of fondness.
Morgan lingered in front of Reannag's stall. Then she looked at Miach. She seemed to consider her words quite carefully. She started to say something several times, then stopped; finally she cursed and spewed out what she'd obviously been chewing on.
"Will magic heal that?" she spat.
Miach was momentarily taken aback. "Aye, it might," he said.
"Do you know any more spells like the one you used on my leg?"
"Spells?" Adhémar echoed. "What spells?"
Miach threw him a warning look. "I disclosed, brother, that you have your own landhold and that I am a farmer. Morgan knows that our mother had a tiny bit of magic which she passed on to us. Useful magic, of the sort you might find on a farm."
"I have no magic," Adhémar growled. "Not anymore."
Morgan frowned. "What does that mean?"
"What it means is that he remembers a spell or two, but he hasn't used them in awhile," Miach said. "But he could teach them to you just the same. As we discussed at Chagailt," he said, doing his best to ungrit his teeth. It was very difficult.
Morgan frowned at Adhémar. "I don't care for magic," she said shortly, "but I will do this thing. Your brother will slow us down if this plagues him. Let us be about fixing it."
Miach looked at Adhémar. "Perhaps a spell of binding," he suggested. "Like one would use with a harness, or a plough."
Adhémar considered calculatingly. Miach wished quite suddenly that he hadn't sent his brother plunging into that icy well. Adhémar smiled slowly, then turned to Morgan.
"Let's try this one," he said. "It's crude, but it might do for our purposes."
Miach sat down on a bale of hay. It seemed wise, as he simply couldn't unman himself yet again by showing Morgan any more weakness than she'd seen already. He listened, unsurprised, as his brother taught Morgan the most rudimentary of binding spells. It would bind the edges of the wound together, true, but leave a large, ugly scar. At least it wasn't being used on a slice down the side of his face. Things could have been worse.
Then again, perhaps worse was the touch of Morgan's hand on his arm as she said the words.
It burned like hellfire.
Miach looked down at his arm. The wound was closed, without a trace of it having been there. The stitches were gone as well, being unnecessary. What was left was the imprint of five fingers. Burned into his flesh as if they'd been a branding iron. Mighty power indeed.
He gaped.
Adhémar gaped as well.
Morgan looked at the burns in consternation. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "Did I do that?"
Adhémar clapped his hands together, then rubbed them enthusiastically. "I say we should be abed early. We've a long ride before us. Perhaps tomorrow, Morgan, you would care to ride next to me? We'll travel quickly and stop early. I wouldn't mind training with you, if you have a spare moment. Then perhaps you might be interested in another spell or two. Just useful ones. The kind a swordsman of the finest mettle might find handy as he goes about his business."
Adhémar then made her a low bow, straightened, and favored her with his most dazzling smile.
Miach scowled. Adhémar, being charming. Truly, there was not a more unsettling sight in all the Nine Kingdoms.
Morgan only looked at him blankly, Adhémar tried again with much the same results. He cursed, then spun on his heel and strode from the stables. Miach watched him go, then sighed and leaned back against the stable wall. It wasn't as if he generally competed with his brother for women. His brother attracted those princesses of the realm who were stunningly beautiful, perfectly mannered, and elegantly begarbed in dresses requiring delicate washing so the jewels might not fall off into greedy servants' hands.
Miach, on the other hand, tended to find himself being presented with princesses who were coming his way thanks to their fathers' swords in their backs. There had been the occasional elvish maid admiring him at King Ehrne's court, but those had been rather adventuresome lassies more interested in his spells than in his person.
It did not surprise him that the one woman with whom he'd had a decent bit of conversation would find herself in his brother's sights?no matter Adhémar's true reason for his interest, which Miach suspected had very little to do with Morgan herself and very much to do with her potential as a wielder for Angesand's sword.
Morgan sat down on the hay next to him. "Well," she said finally.
"Well?" Miach asked crossly.
She looked at him, then frowned. "Your arm pains you," she said. She reached out and touched the burn marks.
