"North."
"How far north?" She looked at him suspiciously. "Veryfar north?"
He smiled. "I thank you for the vote of confidence in my mighty power, but nay. I am not of Lothar's ilk."
"I was not suggesting that. I daresay you have delusions of grandeur enough on your own. But, now we come to it. I have something to discuss with you, something about our last morning at the inn?"
"I think I hear Adhémar calling me."
She grabbed him by the arm. Miach watched her frown as she felt around a bit. "You're not as weak as you look."
Miach had to laugh. "Thank you, I think."
"This is not the arm of a man who is unaccustomed to swordplay, yet you seem so incapable of it."
"Well?"
"No matter," she said briskly. "Now that I have you here, I have several questions to ask you. Actually, just a single question."
He could just imagine. He looked around him and wondered where he might escape, but she had a very firm grip on him. It was a not unpleasant sensation and he vowed to bear up bravely for another moment or two.
"That last morning at the inn," she began, "you were sitting in the corner. Why could I see you when no one else could?"
"Was I sitting in the corner?"
She shot him a look of impatience. "You know you were."
"Perhaps you were imagining it," he said.
"Perhaps I wasn't."
"Perhaps you just have very clear sight."
"Was it a spell?" she asked severely.
"Ah?"
"The truth, Miach."
He smiled to himself. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had spoken to him so impertinently. Well, other than Adhémar, but that was to be expected. It was astonishingly refreshing. He tried to muster an appropriately contrite expression.
"Well," he admitted, "I might know a spell or two. Why you saw through that one I don't know?"
"I'm also not convinced I didn't see you shapechange," she added. "That night before."
He should have been more careful. That he hadn't been said much about his worry and weariness. "Do I look like a shapechanger?" he asked mildly.
"I've never met one, so I wouldn't know."
"If I were you," he said, "I would blame it on a fever and let that be that."
She frowned. "Aye, or I could blame it on bad herbs. Adhémar gave me some that were positively vile. You should have him throw them out."
"Why did you not care for them? I can't imagine there was anything truly odious about them, save their taste."
"They were drenched in magic," Morgan said, "and I'm not one for noticing magic. I couldn't help it with those." She shivered. "I vow I'm still feeling the ill effects."
Miach wanted to feel surprised, but somehow he just wasn't. This was part of what had kept him with the company for five days of stopping at inns and farmhouses and finding naught but nags and ancient plough horses. She had sensed the magic in the herbs Adhémar had given her. She had wielded the Sword of Neroche when his brother the king had been unable to. She had seen through his spell of concealment at the inn?and his spells were not weak, yet there she stood, a shieldmaiden from a backwoods island where magic was shunned and strength of arm prized, and she had managed those feats?
