"I'm getting married."
"Finally," Cathar said, sounding rather relieved. "To whom? "
"Don't know yet," Adhémar said, finishing off Cathar's ale and handing his brother's cup back to him. "I'm still thinking on it."
Miach was set to suggest that perhaps Adhémar choose someone with a decent amount of magic to make up for his lack, but he forbore. For now, it was enough to have time to sort out what was truly going on in the palace without his brother underfoot, bellowing like a stuck pig about his sufferings.
Adhémar scowled. "I've little liking for this idea." He looked at Miach narrowly. "I suspect this is a ruse so you can keep your toes warmed by the fire while I'm off looking for a fool ready to volunteer to take his life in his hands to protect us from the north. "
Miach didn't offer any opinion on that.
Adhémar swore for quite some time in a very inventive fashion. Finally, he swept them all with a look. "Well, it appears I am off to find a wielder for the Sword of Angesand."
"Have a lovely journey," Rigaud said, edging closer to the throne.
Adhémar glared at him. "Turah will sit the Throne while I am gone?"
"What?" Rigaud shouted, leaping in front of his brother. "Adhémar, what of me! I know Nemed is worthless?"
Miach was unsurprised by either the volume of the complaints or Adhémar's choice. After all, it was well within Adhémar's right to choose any of his brothers to succeed him.
Adhémar held up his hand. "He is my choice and my choice is final. You will, of course, aid him as you would me."
Miach didn't need to look into the future to know what would happen in the king's absence. Mansourah would shadow Cathar, Nemed would stand unobtrusively behind Turah and steady him should he falter, and Rigaud would rage continuously about the injustice of it all. Adhémar looked at Miach.
"And you will do as you see fit, I suppose."
"As he bloody pleases, you mean," Rigaud grumbled.
"As I usually do," Miach said with a grave smile. "I have quite enough to do to keep me busy."
"You watch your back, Adhémar," Cathar rumbled. He wrapped his hands around his cup of ale. "I've no mind to crown Turah any time soon."
"Heaven preserve us," Rigaud gasped. "My liege, perhaps I should come and defend you."
"With what?" Cathar said, scowling. "One of your brightly colored tunics? Aye, blind the bloody buggers with your garb and hope they don't stick you in spite of it."
Rigaud, for all his preening, wasn't above defending his own honor and he launched himself at his eldest brother with a curse. Adhémar moved his legs out of the fray and helped himself to Rigaud's ale. Miach sighed. Things never changed, or so it seemed.
Or perhaps not.
Miach looked over the scene of skirmish and though things seemed the same, they were indeed not. Adhémar was powerless. His remaining brothers, even put together, did not have enough magic to keep the brooding darkness at bay. Nay, a wielder for the Sword of Angesand had to be found and Adhémar was the one to do it.
"Miach!" Adhémar bellowed from the bottom of a pile of brothers. "Any thoughts on where I should go?"
"Probably to the most unlikely place possible," Miach offered.
"Ah, but there are so many choices," Adhémar said sourly. He shoved his brothers off him one by one, then sat up and sighed. "The kingdom of Ainneamh?"
"Only elves there," Miach said. "I wouldn't bother. I would turn my eye to a more humble place." He paused. "Perhaps the Island of Melksham."
"What!" Adhémar exclaimed. "The Island of Melksham? Have you lost all sense?"
"It was but a suggestion."
"And a poor one at that." He shook his head in disgust as he crawled to his feet. "Melksham. Ha! That will be the verylastplace I'll look." He glared at Miach one last time, then he strode from the room, his curses floating in the air behind him.
Miach watched as his remaining bothers untangled themselves, collected their empty cups, and made their way singly and with a good deal of commenting on the vagaries of the monarchy from the chamber.
