Star of the Morning

by Lynn Kurland

He smiled. “You were dreaming, Morgan. Out of your head with fever.”

  Why was it her name could sound so very ordinary when Glines said it, but something far different when a stranger did? And this wasn’t even a stranger she had given more thought to than to wonder how he’d gotten this far without losing his head to any number of ruffians. She shook her head and sighed. She hardly recognized herself anymore and she could lay the blame for that at Nicholas’s feet. She would have to write him and tell him in what a sorry state she found herself.

  “Besides,” he said with a smile, “do I look like a shapechanger?”

  “You look like a village brat who hasn’t the sense to even use his eating dagger as a weapon. How have you managed thus far?”

  “I try to avoid battles.”

  “That’s a very unmanly attitude, Miach.”

  He only shrugged, seemingly unoffended. “So it is.”

  “I had more sword skill than you when I was ten.”

  “Did you?” he asked, looking interested. “That is a tale I would like to hear. But perhaps later. Here are the gates.”

  He pulled his hood over his head, which left his face in shadows even under the flat gray of the winter morning. “Leave me to do the talking, if you would.”

  She nodded, resigned. Her first instinct would have been to draw her sword and demand to see Hearn, but perhaps diplomacy would be the better course of action.

  They were stopped at the gates. Miach was polite, but not overly. Perhaps he did not look like a lord who had the money to purchase an Angesand steed, but he certainly carried himself like one. It took only a handful of moments before a message was dispatched to Hearn, a message returned, and they were being escorted into the courtyard. There, they were bid await the lord’s pleasure.

  Morgan had no trouble recognizing Hearn when he arrived. He was dressed no differently than his men, nor was he the largest or strongest of them, yet he carried himself in a way that left her with no doubt that he was lord and master there.

  He stopped in front of them and looked them over. It was a very long look, but Miach did not shift and neither did she. He finally returned his gaze to Miach.

  “My man said there were a pair of travelers at my door—”

  “I am . . . Buck,” Miach interrupted. “Buck, um, Bucksson.”

  Morgan snorted before she could stop herself. Finally, someone without delusions of grandeur.

  “Buck Bucksson,” Hearn drawled. “Is that so? Well, Buck, what are you here for?”

  “A horse, my lord. Actually seven horses, if they are to be had.”

  “Seven,” Hearn said, raising an eyebrow. “But there are only two of you.”

  “Our company waits without,” Miach said easily.

  “Why did they send you?”

  “We have the gold.”

  Hearn grunted. “I don’t sell my horses to just anyone.” He looked at Morgan. “What skill have you with beasts?”

  “I prefer my feet,” Morgan answered without hesitation, “but, er, Buck assures me that if there is a horse worth riding, it comes from your stables.”

  “Does he indeed? Then Buck has a keen eye and a good ear to have harkened to those tales. But the question is, do I want to let you up on one of those wonderful beasts?”

  Morgan had never owned a horse. Indeed, if the truth were to be told, she’d never ridden one. But over her long and illustrious career as a mercenary, she had seen beasts well cared for and ones mistreated. She knew what sort of mistress she would be and she told Hearn as much.

  He studied her, then looked at Miach. “What are you willing to offer for these seven steeds?”

  “I have twenty gold sovereigns for each horse.”

  Hearn blinked, then laughed heartily. “You jest. One beast is worth all of that several times over. Still, let us not be overly hasty here.” He folded his arms over his chest. “What else have you to offer? Have you any magic, either of you?” He paused. “Buck?”

  Miach folded his arms over his chest as well. “A little.”

  “A little,” Hearn repeated. “Well, perhaps it will be enough. I have a well needing a bit of sweetening.”

  “It would then be my pleasure, my lord, to attempt the deed,” Miach said, inclining his head.

  Hearn turned to Morgan. “And what of you, wench? Do you have anything to offer?”

  Well, magic was certainly out. Morgan looked at him steadily. “I could improve the state of your garrison.”

  “Whoo-hoo,” Hearn said with a grin. “Do you think? And just how will you do that, missy? Sing for them? Dance for them? Instruct them in the wifely arts?”

  Morgan was accustomed to that sort of thing. Her usual response was to leave the fool lying on the ground moaning in agony, but she could not do the like here. The speed of her journey lay in this man’s hands. She bit back a tart reply, content to let her skill speak for itself.

  “Let me see your second-fiercest guardsman,” she said. “If I can best him on the field, perhaps you will see that I have something to offer your garrison besides a tuneful bit of singing and lessons in stitchery.”

  “My second fiercest?” he asked. “Why not the fiercest?”

  “I prefer to leave myself something to look forward to after a long day of training those less skilled,” she said smoothly.

  Hearn stared at her in surprise for a moment or two, then laughed out loud. “Indeed. Well, lassie, I’ll have the second fiercest fetched posthaste.” He looked at the man who had brought Miach’s message to him. “Athol, take our young gel here to the lists and have Rupert fetched. Don’t let them begin, though, until I’m there to watch.” His eyes twinkled. “I wouldn’t miss this.” Then he turned to Miach and rubbed his hands together. “Now, you, my little friend Buck, come with me. I have work for you. And then,” he said with a pointed look at both of them, “and only then will I decide if it is enough to purchase a partially lame nag or two.”

  “Do you have any nags, my lord?” Morgan asked politely.

  Hearn looked at her, then laughed again. He clapped Miach on the shoulder and walked off with him.

  Morgan was not reassured. Indeed, though she had what would no doubt be a decent morning of deeds ahead of her, she was not at all hopeful that she and Miach would come away with what they needed. And if they did not, she had no idea what she would do. The burden of her quest demanded that she continue on, no matter how.

  She watched until Miach and Hearn disappeared into another part of the castle, then turned to whom she assumed was a member of Hearn’s guard. He was still staring at her as if he couldn’t quite believe he was being asked to take her to his domain.

  “A woman, no less,” he said doubtfully.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” she asked. “Now, if you’ll lead me to your lists, we’ll be about our business.”

  “Hearn’s lads are not unskilled.”

  “I daresay not, but I need several of Hearn’s horses and this is the purchase price. Lead on.”

  The man frowned at her, then led her away, grumbling.

  The rest of the morning passed quite pleasantly. Morgan made quick work of Angesand’s second-best guardsman, entertained herself with the rest of the garrison singly or in pairs as they desired, then paused for a small bite of luncheon with Hearn. She contentedly saw to the rest of his men that afternoon. The sun was low in the sky when the fiercest of the lot stepped onto the field and grinned a most unpleasant grin.

  Morgan paused to rebraid her hair.

  She took another look at the man and asked him if his wife had any pins she might use to get it completely off her neck.

  The garrison roared with laughter.

  Pins were fetched posthaste from some obliging miss. Once her hair was seen to, she politely invited the man to begin. He did and she felt the first crossing of their swords clear to her center.

  She smiled.

  The sun soon began to sink. Morgan regretted that, as she regretted the last lingering bit of weaknes
s she had. In the end, she had to dig deep for stores of strength she usually left dormant. In truth, that was not such an ill thing. It was seldom that she was called upon to test even the beginning of the end of what she could do.

  The man cried peace, eventually, and offered her a sweaty hand in friendship.

  “I want to know who trained ye, gel,” he said, his face dripping and his chest heaving. “I would pay much to be so fortunate.”

  “I’m not inclined to speak of it now,” she said easily, “but I will perhaps tell you before we leave the keep.”

  The man looked at her closely for a moment or two, then he nodded. “I’ll ask ye again, then, ’afore ye go. But if you’re intending to stay another day or two, I’d like to have another go.”

  “My pleasure,” Morgan said, then looked about her. Finding the garrison in more or less of a shambles, she considered her duty done for the day and happily retreated to the great hall to look for supper.

  Miach was sitting at one of the low tables and motioned for her to join him. She sat down and accepted a cup of ale gladly.

  “How was the garrison?” he asked.

  “Much as I expected, Buck. How did your labors go?”

  He smiled a small smile. “Exhausting. I told you Hearn was a ferocious bargainer. He is taxing the very limits of what I can do.”

  “Magic,” she said, shaking her head. “A most unmanly pursuit. What else is it you do, by the way?”

  “I farm,” he said. “Grow things. Do good.”

  “And your brother?” she asked. “Does he do anything useful? He is certainly full of tales of glory, though I don’t know how they are possible given his lack of skill.”

  Miach smiled. “He is not completely useless.”

  “Nay,” she conceded, “but he always seems to think he has more skill at his command than he really does. It is as if he counts on something else that is simply not there. He would do better to rely only on his strength of arm. Now, what does he do to earn his bread?”

  Miach paused for a moment or two. “He has a landhold,” he said finally.

  “I am surprised he is not wed if that is the case.”

  “So is he,” Miach said dryly, “though it is not for a lack of opportunities.”

  “Perhaps he frightens the wenches off when he opens his mouth,” Morgan mused. “Does he travel often?”

  “When pressed.”

  “Why did he go to Melksham?” she asked. “Did he hope to find a willing wench there?”

  Miach shifted. Morgan frowned to herself. He was not a good liar and she was fairly certain he was preparing to lie now.

  “The question is not difficult,” she said, fingering her knife.

  “It is when you have a blade in your hand.” He drained his cup, then answered. “Something was stolen from him and I’m not free to say what. He set off in the fall to search for it. When he did not return when I thought he should, I set out to look for him. And now here we are at Angesand’s table working off the price of several of his finest horses. Quite a journey, isn’t it?”

  “Hmmm,” she said skeptically. There was more to the tale than he was telling. Perhaps she would take him out to the lists on the morrow and see if she couldn’t wring a few answers from him then. “You have a reprieve now, but I will have my answers yet,” she warned him.

  He only smiled. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

  Aye, an early morning in the lists at her first opportunity. She nodded knowingly at him, then turned back to her supper.

  She finished her meal eventually, then looked over the occupants of the great hall. Hearn’s men, for the most part. The only guests, actually, were Miach and her. She looked at him.

  “A close-knit group.”

  “Hearn does not care for strangers. One of them might say a cross word to one of his horses.”

  She nodded. “I daresay.” She fingered her dagger for a moment or two, then looked at him. “I am not usually given to worry, but I do here. It is obvious to me that the situation here was as you said. Hearn is very fond of his horses.”

  “No reason to worry yet. You seem to have intimidated the garrison. Perhaps you can intimidate Hearn tomorrow.”

  “That won’t win us any horses,” she said with a snort. “I can’t even imagine flattery serving us.”

  “Nay,” he agreed. “Skill and skill alone will win the day.” He smiled briefly. “I suppose then, that ’tis up to you to see to it.”

  She pursed her lips, then turned back to her contemplation of the great hall. It was a fine place indeed, but the stables even from the outside appeared finer. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised.

  After supper was finished, they were offered beds in the hayloft. Morgan saw that her suspicions were correct. She had never in her life seen such fine accommodations for horses. Indeed, Hearn prized his steeds greatly.

  Miach waited until their guides had departed before he spoke.

  “This is a very great honor,” he whispered. “To trust anyone near his horses says much of his esteem for us.”

  “Think you?” she whispered in return.

  “Kings have no doubt longed to sleep in the hayloft. I daresay a very few have, and many more have wished to but been denied the pleasure.”

  “Miach, I have no intention of complaining,” she said, feeling a little overwhelmed by the tidings.

  “You might when I snore.”

  “I might,” she agreed, “but if it is the price I pay for this honor, so be it.”

  She stretched out in the hay next to him and stared up at the ceiling. He lay down as well, then turned toward her. She could sense he was studying her by the faint light from a lantern below. Heaven only knew what he thought of her, but she found that whatever it was, it didn’t trouble her.

  But in time it did begin to annoy her. She turned her head to look at him.

  “What?”

  “You said you could wield a sword at ten summers,” he said. “How did that happen?”

  “If I tell you,” she said, “will you shut up and sleep?”

  He laughed. “Aye, I might.”

  She found that she enjoyed his laugh. It was full of sunshine and good humor, much like Nicholas’s. It occurred to her, quite suddenly, that she had known few who laughed.

  Well, perhaps that wasn’t completely true. Paien laughed. Camid chortled evilly when the mood was upon him. Glines managed the odd snort of humor when he wasn’t watching her with sad, longing eyes. But a man chuckling with simple delight? Nay, she knew few of those.

  It was the laugh that disarmed her. To her surprise, she found herself hardly hesitating before she began spewing out details of her past that she had not seen fit to share even with Paien.

  “I have few memories of my parents,” she said slowly. “I think I had siblings, though I cannot say for certain.” Indeed, she remembered little; what she did remember was dark and she did not like to dwell on it. “I suppose my earliest true memories are of the mercenaries who took me in.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Six, I think.”

  “A scrawny, feisty slip of a girl?” he asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “You haven’t changed much.”

  She looked at him coolly. “I daresay you haven’t nearly enough respect for my skill.”

  “I’m relying on your mercy instead,” he said solemnly. “So, these altruistic lads took you in and then what? Trained you to be the terrifying warrior you are today?”

  “Nay, they taught me to steal whatever I could, lie whenever I spoke, and portray myself as a helpless child before I killed whomever they told me to.”

  Miach’s mouth fell open. He leaned up on one elbow. “You jest.”

  “I do not.”

  “But that is not who you are today.”

  “Are you so certain?”

  He smiled briefly. “I may be helpless with a sword, but I read men’s hearts very well. What happened to make you change your wa
ys?”

  “I began my courses and they deposited me on the steps of an orphanage. The cowards fled without a backward glance.”

  Miach laughed softly. “That would do it, I suppose. Where was the orphanage?”

  “At Lismòr, on the southern shore of Melksham.”

  Miach frowned thoughtfully. “Isn’t there a university there as well?”

  “There is.”

  “But I thought it was only for men,” he said. “Was not the orphanage the same?”

  Morgan nodded solemnly. “Aye, but they thought I was a lad, at first. At least the headmaster of the lads did. I suspect now, looking back on it, that the lord of Lismòr, Nicholas, knew from the start what I was.” She sighed deeply at the memory. “He was kind to me when I did not deserve it. Then again, he has a tender heart.”

  “Surely his lady wife was there as well, was she not?” Miach asked. “To oversee, um, womanly things?”

  Morgan shook her head. “I think ’tis common knowledge, so I’m not telling you something you couldn’t hear at a local tavern, but his wife and children were slain in a terrible accident. He does not speak of it often, but I know it grieves him even to this day.”

  Miach winced. “I pity him, then.”

  “Aye, perhaps you should, because he lost all his sons. On the other hand, there are dozens of lads whom he raised to be good men because of his loss, so perhaps it was not in vain.”

  “Many lads and one lass,” Miach said with a faint smile.

  “Aye,” Morgan agreed.

  “So, how did you fare amongst all these lads and away from your mercenary ways?”

  “Terribly at first,” she admitted. “I almost cut Lord Nicholas’s cook to ribbons for not allowing me extra salt for my stew and I ruined Nicholas’s flower garden that first year by beating off all the heads of his blossoms with a stick whilst pretending that they were my training partners.”

  “Poor man,” Miach said with a laugh. “What did he do to save his subsequent blooms?”

  “Had a sword made for me and acquired a garrison for himself.”

  “What an interesting addition for an orphanage.”

  “He was desperate.”

  Miach smiled. “He must have cared for you a good deal.”