He heard the faint hint of a song. He looked around him, startled, but the great hall was empty. He frowned, then resumed his contemplation of the floor.
Again, he heard the whisper of a song.
He realized, quite suddenly, where the music was coming from. He looked up slowly until his eyes fastened on a sword, hanging above the enormous hearth at the end of the great hall.
The Sword of Angesand.
Miach crossed slowly over to the dais, stepped up, and walked around behind the king's high table. He looked up, finding that it was impossible not to do so. The sword was hanging well out of reach, so he was forced to fetch a chair. He pulled the sword down and looked at it.
The Sword of Angesand, fashioned by Mehar of Angesand, queen of Neroche, and laced with enough magic to make even the most strong-stomached of souls quake. Miach held the sword aloft, but saw nothing but firelight flickering along the polished steel, firelight that revealed the tracery of leaves and flowers along the blade. All the things that Queen Mehar loved…
It whispered the echo of the song he'd heard, then it fell silent.
Miach looked at the blade. If the Sword of Neroche was unresponsive, was it possible the Sword of Angesand might not be? Could not a soul be found to awaken its magic? If a wielder could be found, perhaps it would be enough to keep Lothar curbed until Miach could solve the mystery of Adhémar and his sword.
Perhaps.
Miach's hand shook as he replaced the sword?and that wasn't from the exertion. It might work. Indeed, he couldn't see why it wouldn't. He turned and walked out of the great hall, convinced that there was no other path to be taken. Neroche's king had lost his magic and the archmage could not win the battle on his own. The Sword of Angesand had power enough bound into its elegant steel to tip the scales in their favor.
Now, to find someone willing to go off and search for that wielder.
Miach made his way through the castle and back into the private family quarters. He found almost all his brothers gathered in their own, more modest hall, sipping or gulping ale as their particular circumstance warranted. He paused at the doorway to the chamber and looked them over. Was there a man there who might have the clearness of vision to recognize a wielder when he saw one?
Miach looked at Cathar, who sat to the right of the king's chair. He was a serious man of five and thirty winters, a scant year younger than Adhémar, who never would have thought to take an uninvited turn in his brother's seat to see how it felt.
Of course, that kind of testing was nothing to Rigaud, two years Cathar's junior and as light-minded as the rest of them were serious. He lounged comfortably in Adhémar's chair, dressed in his finest clothes. Miach looked pointedly at his green-eyed brother and only received a lazy wink in return. When Adhémar entered, he would be forced to bodily remove Rigaud from his seat, which Rigaud would enjoy immensely, though he would no doubt complain about the damage to his clothing.
Next came Nemed, a lean man of thirty-two years with soft gray eyes and a gentle smile. Miach shook his head. Cathar wouldn't have dared take on the task, Rigaud would have forgotten the task in his pursuit of tame and fortune, and Nemed would have found himself ripped to shreds by anyone with any ambition for power.
That left him with only his twin brothers, Mansourah and Turah. They were canny warriors, but with weaponry was where their allegiance lay. They likely would have spent their time fighting over which ofthemmight have been more suited to wielding the Sword of Angesand than searching out someone else to do it.
Miach sighed heavily as he realized what he'd known from the start. There was only one to seek out the wielder, and that soul would not be happy to hear the news.
Adhémar suddenly entered the chamber. All stood except Rigaud, who apparently didn't want to give up his seat any sooner than necessary. Miach suppressed a smile at the squawking that ensued when the preening rooster was unceremoniously removed from his roost.
Adhémar sat, then looked at Miach. "Well?"
Miach shut the door behind him, then leaned back against it. No sense in letting anyone escape unnecessarily. "I believe I have found a solution."
"A solution?" Cathar echoed. "A solution to what?"
Miach folded his arms over his chest. He wasn't about to reveal the details of the king's current condition. Adhémar could do that himself.
Adhémar shot Miach a glare, then turned to Cathar. "I lost my magic," he said bluntly.
There were sounds of amazement from several quarters. Cathar frowned.
"This afternoon?" he asked.
"Aye."
"Is it permanent?" Rigaud asked promptly.
"Don't hope for it overmuch," Adhémar said shortly. "I'm sure it will return soon." He shot Miach a look. "Won't it?"
"I'm still working on that," Miach said. And he would be, no doubt, for quite some time to come.
Adhémar scowled, then looked back at the rest of his brothers. "It isn't permanent," he said confidently. "So, until I regain my magic, I'm sure our clever brother over there has a solution to our problems." He looked at Miach expectantly.
