It had taken him all of the morning the day before to find out which source of the well was making it so sour. He'd uncovered a very old spell laid by a not-unskilled wizard who had apparently been quite a bit fonder of Angesand's horses than he had been of the mortals there. Perhaps the wizard had borne a grudge toward Angesand's lord.
Once Miach had unraveled that spell, which had caused the human's water to sour more with each passing year, he'd had to determine all the streams, all the inlets, all the points of moisture that ran together to make up the well water, as well as tending to the stones of the well. That had been his task that morning. He was making good progress, but even a spell to last a decade took time.
And Hearn wanted this enchantment to last a thousand years.
Miach had immediately agreed to the bargain. After all, Angesand's horses were without peer.
"So, my lord Archmage," said a low voice from behind him, "how does it taste?"
Miach turned to face Hearn. "Terrible. "
"Hence my boundless enthusiasm at the thought of you seeing to it," Hearn said with a grin.
Miach smiled briefly. "It's clear to me now." He paused. "I appreciate the anonymity. "
"I assumed you had reason."
"I do."
"Does the wench know?"
Miach shook his head. "She doesn't. And I don't wish her to."
"Why not?"
Miach paused and considered. He had several reasons, but he could give voice to none of them. "I'm not certain yet. I think it best for the moment to be just another lad."
"You'd best have a good reason for the secrecy and be very, very far away when she learns the truth. If it angers her, you are in trouble. "
"You've seen her in the lists."
Hearn shivered. "There's something unwholesome about the way she fights. I've never seen anything like it." He paused. "Well, that isn't precisely true. I have seen a man of her ilk. Once. "
Miach sat on the edge of the well. "And?"
Hearn considered, looked at Miach for a moment or two in silence, then sat down beside him. "What do you know of Melksham Island? "
Miach shrugged. "It is a minor tributary of Neroche. It would be a tributary of Angesand if the lord there had his way. "
Hearn smiled pleasantly. "Aye, it would be if I had any ambition?or a lack of feed for my beasts. What else do you know? "
"There is abundant farmland and quite a few sheep it memory serves. Little magic and no wish for any."
"You learned your lessons well, my lord, but you're missing one of the most interesting things about it. Have you never heard of Scrymgeour Weger?"
"Weger." Miach echoed. "Aye. He is a sword master of sorts, isn't he? "
Hearn looked astonished. "A sword master only? Surely you jest."
Miach shrugged. "A very skilled sword master?"
"Know you nothing of him, truly?"
Miach looked off into the distance for a moment or two. He thought back to rumors and tales borne on gossiping tongues, idle speculation in councils of wizards, table conversation during meals with visiting royalty. He looked at Hearn. "He trains assassins," he said finally.
Hearn smiled. "You could put it that way, I suppose, but I wouldn't. He trains men in the arts of swordplay, but to a level that most can scarce imagine, much less attain."
"Indeed," Miach said, folding his arm over his chest. "Tell me more."
