"I'm Mochriadhemiach," he said. "Archmage of the realm. I've been traveling in disguise for a pair of fortnights for reasons I will give later. My friends call me Miach."
Paien looked at his hand for several moments, then studied him for several moments more before he finally took his hand and shook it in a crushing grip. "Where's Morgan?" he asked.
"That is a tale better reserved for my private chambers," Miach said. "She is safe."
Paien grunted and released his hand. "I wondered about you."
"Did you," Miach said dryly.
Camid came and clapped hands with him, looking up with a squint, "I didn't. I've no use for magic, outside of using it as a way to describe my skill with an axe, but I suppose I won't hold it against you. Sweet on her, are you."
"Hmmm," Miach said.
"Then why in the bloody hell did you bring her here?" Camid asked, Fingering his axe purposefully.
"Again, a conversation for another place."
"But the time will be now," Paien growled.
Miach looked about to see if he had any friends in the area. Fletcher was holding the bucket as if he feared it might come alive at any moment. Glines, however, was casually swinging the hilt around his finger and looking at Miach with a smile. Miach nodded at him and started toward the door of the great hall. Glines caught up with him easily, leaving the others to follow.
"Where's Morgan?" Glines asked.
"I sent her oft with a dragon."
Glines choked. Miach smiled grimly.
"I wish I were jesting. She will be well."
"You'll see to it," Glines stated.
"If seeing can be done," Miach said. He sighed and walked quietly for several moments, out of the great hall, through passageways, up and down half flights of stairs, and then to the bottom of the twisting steps that went up to his tower. He looked at Glines. "I hope she will be well."
"Could you not cure her?"
Miach put his hand on the wall and considered his words very carefully for some time. Finally, he looked at Glines. "I could have, perhaps," he began slowly, "but to do so would have required all my attention, all my skill, and perhaps all my strength." He paused. "A thousand years from now, I might have gained the fortitude to do that and see to the realm at the same time."
"A thousand years," Camid snorted. "Ridiculous. Who will be alive in a thousand years? "
Miach decided that perhaps that was a topic for a more private setting as well. He smiled at Glines. "I relinquished her care to someone with the skill, the strength, and the age. He will see to her. I will see to the realm."
"And when she is whole?"
"Then I suppose you and I will battle for her hand," Miach said lightly.
"I would lay odds on myself, at this point," Glines said seriously.
"Unfortunately, so would I," Miach said. He swept them all with a look. "Come, friends, and ascend with me. We have plans to make and tales to tell."
"And a wedding feast to attend," Glines added helpfully.
Miach raised his eyebrows once, then climbed the stairs, leaving the others to follow along. He would tell his tales, they would make their plans, then he would set his spells and secure the borders. If he had time, he would see if he couldn't get a reasonable look at Adhémar's sword and determine if it had been enspelled or not. He would take a moment or two more and think about that strange magic that seemed to be cropping up in unexpected places.
And then he would put it all behind him and take his own journey south, to see what aid he could offer Nicholas.
And hope there would be a reason to.
Chapter Twenty-six
