Adhémar pursed his lips. "I'll be in later. Pay for mine for me, if you managed to bring coin with you."
Miach picked up a rock, tossed it high into the air and changed it into a purse full of gold on the way down.
"Damn you," Adhémar complained.
"I'll buy you supper," Miach said, then he walked away. He pulled Morgan's sword out of the ground and took it with him back to the inn.
He ordered a meal for himself, paid for one to be taken to Adhémar, then went to sit down next to the fire. He drew a veil of disinterest over himself?not so strong that his supper wouldn't find him, but strong enough to discourage too many studious looks from the other patrons?and sat back to think.
He was not mad; he had seen the Sword of Neroche blaze to life. He'd been twenty leagues to the south, true, but he'd seen it just the same. Perhaps there was magic in the blade yet…
He looked at Morgan's sword. It was a simple, elegant blade, very well fashioned and adorned with a handful of gems on the hilt. It was not an inexpensive blade and Miach wondered how she had come by it.
Perhaps he would learn of it later. He sighed deeply, then set the blade aside as his supper arrived.
He tipped the serving wench handsomely and settled down to the simple fare with the gusto of a man who had been eating raw game for far too many weeks. It was only after he'd satisfied himself far past where he was comfortable that he leaned back in his chair and considered his next move.
He could return to Neroche and leave Adhémar to come in his own good time. Indeed, the situation at the border came close to demanding it. Even as he had traveled the Nine Kingdoms, searching for his brother, his mind had ever been on his spells. It had needed to be, for the erosion had continued. His ability to see to that constant drain on his defenses had not diminished, but he would eventually need the power of the Sword of Angesand. The sooner they found that wielder, the happier he would be.
He looked up from his cup when he saw Morgan's watchman heading back toward the bedchambers, dragging an obviously wounded lad with him. Miach found himself on his feet and following them before he knew he intended to do so.
He was being altruistic.
It was one of his finer characteristics.
He followed the men down the passageway, then paused at the doorway as the older man ushered the young man inside and bid him sit down upon a stool and not make any noise.
"She needs sleep," the man was saying. "I'll find a stitcher for you and we'll have your arm seen to. I suppose we should have done it earlier, but I thought food would serve you better. Now, sit you here and watch over Morgan until I return."
The lad looked at him with wide eyes and nodded. "As you will, Paien. "
"Draw your sword, Fletcher my lad, and lay it across your knees. You'll look fiercer that way. "
It would take more than that, but Miach forbore offering any comment. He continued to lean against the doorway as the man called Paien turned to leave. Then Paien froze. His hand didn't stray toward his sword, but even so, Miach had no doubt of his intent. Miach nodded to himself. A seasoned fighter, if he was that sure of his skill.
"Well, friend," Paien said slowly, "you returned."
Miach handed Paien Morgan's sword and smiled in his most reassuring fashion. "I thought I might be useful," he said easily.
"And how useful might you be?"
"I do have some small skill in healing."
Paien studied him for quite some time in silence. Miach allowed it, given that he was doing a bit of the same. Finally Paien relaxed.
"You look like Adhémar."
"We're kin," Miach allowed.
"Brothers," Paien stated.
"Surprisingly enough."
Paien laughed. "What's your name, lad? "
Miach considered quickly. Many had named their sons after Adhémar, but none after him. Then again, Mochriadhemiach was quite a mouthful. He would just give the shortened version his family used and attach a small spell of insignificance to it. That would be anonymity enough for his purposes, as he didn't plan to be there all that long.
"Miach," he said, smiling and extending his hand.
