Miach desperately wanted time to consider the possibilities of what Fletcher had just told him, but he was interrupted by Paien entering the chamber.
"Here you are, Miach."
Miach accepted the steaming cup from Paien, and dropped a pinch of herb into it, mixing it liberally with a spell designed to drive the poison from Fletcher's arm. He handed it to the lad.
"Drink it all," he instructed.
Fletcher did his best, wrinkling his nose at the taste. Miach didn't encourage him to drink faster because he needed the time to get his feet back under himself.
Morgan had called to the power of Adhémar's sword?
He could hardly believe it.
"What about Morgan?" Paien asked.
What about Morgan, indeed. Miach looked at Paien. "I'll finish with the lad, then see to her as well."
Paien nodded, left the chamber, then returned almost immediately with a stool of his own. He sat down next to Miach. "I'll help," he said, helpfully.
Miach smiled to himself, then nodded and set to work on Fletcher's arm with a needle and thread he managed to produce from thin air without drawing attention to it. He made quick work of the wound, then bound it securely- Then he rose and crossed the chamber to sit on the edge of the bed.
Morgan was no less lovely that she had been the first time he'd clapped eyes on her. She was, however, considerably paler. Miach decided that the first thing to do was make her comfortable. He set to his task without hesitation. Paien squawked when Miach began to remove her weapons from their secreted locations on her person, but Miach only held them out to Paien without comment.
When he had removed them all, he took her hand in his and stilled his mind. He sensed no serious hurt, just the aftereffects of a terrible bout of seasickness and a dreadful battle that afternoon.
And the bloodred magelight of the Sword of Neroche that troubled her even in her dreams.
Miach opened his eyes and stared at her in amazement. So, it was true. He could hardly believe that this woman, slender, lovely, and apparently unmagical, could have called forth the power of the king's sword when the king himself could not.
Astonishing.
Could she do it again or had it been an aberration?
Miach rethought his plan to look at her once more and then leave. Perhaps remaining with their company for a few days more would yield the truth of the matter. Something had happened that day, something he'd seen from twenty leagues away. Something that Morgan had been responsible for. All the more reason to find a reason to travel with her for a while and see for himself what the truth was.
He whispered two spells; one of healing and another of peace. Then he rose, stretched, and went to sit upon his stool. Fletcher was already asleep, leaning back against the wall and snoring happily. Miach looked to his right. Paien had joined the lad in blissful slumber, though he was quite a bit louder about his sojourning there.
Miach was tempted to get up and leave them to their snores, but he made the mistake of looking at Morgan again.
And once he looked, he found he couldn't look away.
He stared at her by the light of a pair of candles in the chamber and nodded to himself. Aye, it would be sensible to remain nearby for a while.
To make certain Adhémar didn't lose his way.
To see to Morgan if she needed aid.
To find the answers to his riddles.
"She's a vile wench."
Miach blinked and looked at the doorway. Adhémar stood there, scowling.
"I wonder how vile can she be with that visage," Miach mused.
"Aye, well, don't wonder too closely or she'll giveyoua lump on your head you won't soon forget."
"Interesting." He looked at his brother casually. "I believe I'll travel with her for a bit, just to make certain she's well."
