She sighed deeply. "Very well, I will spew even more of my secrets to you. But just a few," she warned.
"Wonderful." He sat down next to her on her bale of hay. "Go right ahead. Spew away."
"I see I have no choice," she grumbled. "Very well, I left the orphanage at ten-and-eight. I went straightway to Gobhann?"
"Where you cut your hair," he put in.
She glared at him. "Actually, I cut it just before I left the orphanage."
"Just curious."
"Are you going to let me finish?"
"I'll try."
She almost smiled. Miach was almost sure of it.
"I left Gobhann at a score-and-four. I could have left earlier, but I was invited to stay and teach."
"Thatisflattering," he murmured.
"Terribly," she agreed. "But as to the particulars of any of it, I will say no more."
Miach supposed that was far more answer than he deserved. Perhaps in time she might give him the entire tale so he wasn't forced to resorting to rumor and innuendo for his information.
He sighed lightly, then moved to resume his place on his bale of hay. "So," he said conversationally as he began to brush the tangles and prickles from her hair, "you cut it at some point before you went to Gobhann and earned that bit of business on your brow that I'm certain you will tell me all about someday."
"You are irritating."
"But very good with a curry comb. You're welcome. So, at some point you grew your hair long again. It is a perfect disguise. Who would think a woman with locks so fine to be so skilled with a sword?"
She looked over her shoulder at him with a frown. "Did you think that up on your own?"
"I may have poor sword skill, but I do have a brain."
"Poor sword skill? Miach, you havenosword skill. "
"Untrue," he managed. "I hold my own against Adhémar. "
"He has no sword skill either," she said promptly. "Even Glines shows better than you."
"Does he?"
"He can occasionally see to an enemy," she conceded. "If he manages to get his sword pointed in the right direction and the enemy does him the favor of falling upon it in precisely the right way."
Miach laughed again, then tell silent. Soon the only sounds were the whickers of the horses and the noise of the brush going through Morgan's long hair.
Soon, even that ceased. Miach stopped only because he felt her go quite still. It didn't take a mage's perception to know she was considering something serious.
Miach dropped his hand and fingered the brush. "Morgan?"
She sat for several minutes in silence, then turned and looked at him.
Miach would have blanched at the distraught look on her face, but he was the archmage and an archmage was made of sterner stuff than that. He did take a deep breath, though. This was something serious indeed.
"I've been dreaming," she said flatly.
"I know."
