Miach was left there, alone, staring at the empty place where his brothers had been. Unbidden, a vision came to him of the chamber before him, only it was abandoned, desolate, ruined, uninhabitable?
He shook his head sharply. That was no vision; it was a he spawned by his own unease. All would be well. He was doing all he could. No doubt this was the worst of the disasters.
He reflected again on the places Adhémar might possibly go to find the wielder. Melksham Island was certainly the least likely, which would make it the most likely?but he wouldn't tell Adhémar that. With any luck, he would make it there eventually on his own.
Miach turned and left the chamber, leaving the search for the wielder in his brother's hands.
For the moment.
Chapter One
Morgan of Melksham walked along the road, cursing both the last of autumn's chill and her journey that caused her to be traipsing out in that chill instead of hunkering down next to a warm fire. This was not what she had planned. Her life had been proceeding quite nicely down a path she had planned until she'd received the missive in the middle of a particularly muddy campaign in which she'd been trying to pry one of Melksham's nobles from a keep that did not belong to him. The message from Lord Nicholas had been brief and pointed.
Come soon; time is short.
Morgan didn't want to speculate on what that might mean, but she couldn't help herself. Was the man suffering from life-threatening wounds? Was his home under siege from nobles he had exacted donations from once too often? Had he had a bountiful harvest and needed any extra pair of hands to bring that harvest to the cellar?
Was he dying?
She quickened her pace, forcing her thoughts away. She would know soon enough and then that uncomfortable, unwholesome pounding in her chest would cease and she actually might be able to eat again.
She reached the outer walls of the orphanage just as the sun was setting. Melksham Orphans Home at Lismòr had begun many years ago as a home for lads, but at some point it had also become a place of study that had brought together a collection of the finest scholars from all over the Nine Kingdoms. Nicholas, the lord of Lismòr, was the orphanage's undisputed champion and the university's chief procurer of funds.
Over the years, it had become different things to those who had experience with it. Many called it "the orphanage." Others referred to it as "the university." Nicholas simply called it "home."
Morgan agreed with the latter, though she never would have admitted it.
The outer walls of Lismòr soon rose up before her, forbidding and unfriendly. It made her wonder, not for the first time, why a university merited anything more than a sturdy gate. It was rumored that Lismòr hid many things, including chests of marvelous treasure. Morgan supposed those rumors could have been referring to the offerings that appeared each night on Lord Nicholas's supper table, but she couldn't have said for certain.
There were rumors, though, of another sort that swirled around Lord Nicholas. It was said that he never aged, that he conversed with mysterious souls who slipped inside the gates after dark and left well before dawn, and that he even possessed magic.
Morgan snorted. She had never seen any display of otherworldliness at the orphanage, and she'd lived there for many years. No doubt Nicholas's garden bloomed in the depth of winter because he was a damned fine gardener, not for any more magical reason. He was a man of great intelligence, quick wit, and an ability to convince others to fund his ventures. He possessed no magic beyond that.
Surely.
And surely his missive had nothing to do with his health.
She knocked on the heavy gate, then waited impatiently as a single square of metal was slowly pulled back and a weathered face appeared, looking out suspiciously.
"Hmmm," he said doubtfully.
Morgan pursed her lips. "Aye, hmmm."
The porthole was slammed shut and the gate opened without haste. Morgan tapped her foot impatiently until the moment she could slip inside. She shut the gate herself, then looked at the gatekeeper.
"Is he dying?"
"Morgan," the gatekeeper said pleasantly. "You've been away long."
"But I have returned, in haste, and my hope is that it is not to attend a wake. Master James, is hedying!"
"Who?"
"Lord Nicholas!"
Master James scratched his head. "Not that I know of. I think he's holding court with the lads in his solar. Best to seek him out there, aye?"
Morgan could hardly believe her ears. Nicholas was well?
