"Bad knees." He patted his knees gingerly, as if to convince her that they were indeed less than useful. "The cold makes them worse."
She snorted. "Scholars should not lie. It reflects poorly upon you as a group."
He coughed weakly. "Would you send an old man on a perilous journey and deny him his few meager comforts?oh, lads, just set that down here on the table near me where I don't need to reach too far for it."
The servants came inside with enough food to feed half a dozen people. They arranged everything, then bowed to Nicholas and left the chamber.
"Morgan, mulled wine? Delicacies from Ghearmailt?"
Meager comforts, indeed. Morgan accepted what he gave her only because it allowed her more time to think on a good reason why she couldn't do what he asked. Unfortunately, the offensiveness of the blade aside, she was having a difficult time dredging one up. Nicholas had given her a home, a sword, and all the peaceable things in her life. How could she refuse him anything?
"So," Nicholas said, setting the blade beside his plate and tucking into his meal, "you will do this thing for me, won't you?"
"Ah?"
"I daresay it will be difficult," he continued, as if he hadn't heard her. That, or he wasn't listening, which she suspected was the case. "So difficult, that there are surely few who would dare attempt the quest. Fewer still who would succeed. Indeed, I daresay there is only one who could manage what needs to be done. That one is, of course, you. "
Morgan glared at him, then buried her curses in her cup.
"In the end, taking this blade to the king might possibly mean the difference between victory and defeat," Nicholas said.
Morgan looked at him sharply. "Victory and defeat against whom, my lord ? "
"Lothar," he said easily.
Morgan wanted to apply herself to her meal, but found that quite suddenly she could not. She sat back, not trusting herself with a goblet of wine either. "In truth?"
He looked at her seriously for the first time that morning. "In truth, my girl."
She rubbed her hands over her face and sighed deeply. "Has the king lost his power?"
Nicholas paused, seemed to consider his words, then nodded. "So I've heard."
"How long ago?"
"Two months is what I understand."
She felt a little faint. "That long?"
"Aye. But again, it could be nothing but a rumor. I suppose when you take the king this blade, you'll find out the truth of it for yourself. You'll return and let me know?"
"Have you no shame, old man?" she said in exasperation. "I haven't agreed to go! "
"But you will," he said confidently. "How could you resist such a challenge?"
She wanted to sayeasily, but before she could get the word out, a servant broke into the solar.
"Your pardon, Your Lordship, but you are needed immediately," he said breathlessly. "A pitched battle in the buttery! "
"I must attend to this," Nicholas said springing to his feet and striding spryly to the door. "Priorities, you know?"
The door shut firmly behind him. Morgan snorted. Bad knees, indeed. The man could likely outrun her. She turned her attentions back to the meager offerings before her and applied herself with singlemindedness to them. Soon, though, she found she could not eat anymore. She pushed the table away from her, then rose and began to pace about the solar.
She had absolutely no desire to go to Tor Neroche. It meant leaving Melksham and she had more than enough to do on her own poor island. Besides, she did not like to travel. Off the island, that was.
She glanced at the blade sitting next to Nicholas's plate. She did not like the feel of it, though she could not help but admit that the blade itself was beautiful.
She turned away abruptly and found herself facing Nicholas's desk. There was a thick book open there beneath the window and she practically leaped toward it in an effort to keep herself from having to pay any more attention to that lovely bit of silver slathered with such vile things.
