“I’ve met your brother,” said Morigna.
“You have? Pity,” said Nathan. “You must be prejudiced against me already.”
“You are nothing like your brother,” said Morigna.
Nathan grinned. “Why, that is the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me, my lady witch.”
“Stop calling me that,” said Morigna. “I have a name, you know.”
“Well, what am I to call you, then?” said Nathan. “Naming you the ‘witch of the hills’ seems dreadfully impolite, and a knight strives to be courteous to a lady. Especially one who is neither a bent old crone nor the size of an ox.”
“How very flattering,” said Morigna. “If you must know, my name is Morigna.”
“Morigna,” said Nathan. “A lovely name.” He stepped closer, and Morigna started to draw back. But he took her left hand, bowed over it, and kissed her fingers. “A lovely name, indeed.”
“Thank you,” said Morigna, tugging her hand out of his grasp. Part of her was annoyed at his effrontery. Another part of her wanted to keep her hand in his. “I think.”
“You are welcome,” he said. He walked over to his turkey and slung it over his shoulders. “This ought to shut up my brothers – they complain less when I come back with a kill or two.” He turned back and grinned at her. “Perhaps I shall see you here again.”
“But…” started Morigna.
Nathan was already walking away.
She stared after him for a moment, at a loss for words for one of the very first times in her life.
Then she picked up her bird and left, thinking over every word of their conversation.
“What is this?” said the Old Man, looking up from his scroll as she entered his cottage. “A turkey?” His eyes narrowed. “Is it diseased?”
“I wanted turkey soup for dinner,” said Morigna.
“Really,” said the Old Man. His frown deepened. “Why are you smiling?”
“I,” said Morigna, “most certainly am not smiling.”
She grinned to herself and set to work.
###
Six days later she saw Nathan again in the hills.
“You,” she told him, “are quite elusive.”
He smiled. “So you were looking for me, then?”
Morigna opened her mouth, closed it again. “One likes to be aware of one’s surroundings.”
She tried not to wince at how trite that sounded.
“Truly,” said Nathan. “You ought to come hunting with me. Four eyes are better than two. Maybe we’ll bag a wyvern and take home a trophy. A necklace of wyvern fangs would suit you well.”
“I am not sure if that is a compliment,” said Morigna. “And why would you want to go hunting with the witch of the hills anyway?”
His smile faded a little. “Because you are not boring. And living in Moraime is nothing but boredom, save for when a warband of pagan orcs comes too close to the walls.”
She thought of listening to the Old Man, of his endless lectures against the church and the nobles and the Magistri. She would recite most of them from memory by now.
“I think,” said Morigna, “that I can understand that.”
“Come,” he said, “let us find some supper.”
###
They felt into a ritual, hunting together twice a week, and Morigna learned more about him.
And he, she suspected, learned more about her.
His mother had died when he was young, and his father had died about six years ago, not long after a Swordbearer had passed through Moraime on his way to Urd Morlemoch. The abbot of the monastery of St. Cassian had appointed Michael the new praefectus of the town, and Michael and Nathan’s other brother Jonas had busied themselves with the business of the town ever since.
“Not that there is much to do,” said Nathan. “The people of Moraime more or less look after themselves. The occasional brawl, to be sure, or moved boundary stone, and someone needs to drill the militia every month. But beyond that, Moraime hardly needs a praefectus…and Nathan and Jonas do not need my help.”
She gathered his brothers had little time for him, and so he had been left to his own devices, learning to hunt and trap in the hills and the marshes.
And slowly she told him more about herself, about her training with the Old Man. She showed him her cave, in case he ever needed to shelter there.
Finally, she told him about her parents, and took him to the ruined foundations of the cottage.
“I am sorry,” Nathan said, all trace of his usual joking manner gone.
“I…thank you,” said Morigna, her eyes stinging. No one had ever said that to her. Certainly the Old Man had never bothered.
The months wore on, and Morigna began skipping her lessons with the Old Man, much to his annoyance. But she did not care.
Toward the end of the summer, they spent two days tracking a white stag, one whose pelt would fetch a fine price with the merchants that sometimes came up from the city of Coldinium. Towards the end of the hunt, Morigna lured out the beast, driving it into Nathan’s path.
And he put a single arrow into the stag’s heart from forty yards away.
It was a magnificent shot, and Morigna whooped and laughed. Nathan walked over to join her, grinning.
“Thought I’d missed it,” he said.
“No,” said Morigna. “It was a good shot. I don’t think I could have made it, and I’m the better archer.”
“Are you?” said Nathan, stepping closer.
“I am,” said Morigna.
“Care to prove it?” said Nathan.
She laughed. “I can…”
Before she finished, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and hard upon the lips. She went rigid at first, and then a wave of heat washed through her, and she felt herself melt against him, kissing him back.
“Well,” said Morigna, when they broke apart, breathing hard. “It was a very good shot.”
They carried the stag back to her cave, and then cleaned and skinned it, preparing the meat. After, they washed off in the pond near the hillside, and Morigna did not bother to conceal herself from him.
And when they finished, she pulled him to her sleeping furs in her cave, and they made love for the first time.
But not the last.
After that, she stared spending every day with him, and she forgot about her lessons with the Old Man entirely.
###
“You should,” said Nathan, six weeks later, “come away with me.”
Morigna lifted her head from his chest and opened one eye. “Oh?”
They lay together in her furs in her cave. She had spent six years living there, and had improved it considerably in that time. Wooden shelves lined the walls, storing her possessions, and beneath a small opening she had constructed a hearth that kept the cave warm in winter. Her bed had gotten larger as she added furs and planks to it, which was just as well, since she now shared it with Nathan on a regular basis.
“We should go away together,” said Nathan.
Morigna blinked. “Where?”
“Anywhere we want,” he said, running a hand down her back.
“You mean…leave here?” said Morigna. “The cave is hardly a palace, I shall admit, but it is warm and dry…”
Nathan laughed. “No. I mean leave Moraime and the Wilderland entirely. How far have you been from Moraime?”
She thought for a moment. “Perhaps seventy-five miles. I have visited the orcish villages in the foothills. I’ve traveled through the marshes and the woods west of here.”
“I have been up and down the length of Vhaluusk,” said Nathan. “And I’ve traveled to the edge of the Torn Hills. Saw some undead and a few spirits, and I knew not to go any further. The say the Warden of Urd Morlemoch sits on a throne of skulls, attended by the spirits of those he slew.”
“Even the Old Man is frightened of the Warden,” said Morigna.
“Well, let’s not go northwest, then,” said Nathan. “But it’s a big worl
d, Morigna. And between the two of us, we’ve only seen a little of it. Do you want to spend the rest of your life here?”
Morigna remembered the ruined foundations of the cottage, the Old Man’s harsh lessons, the cold, suspicious glares from the townsfolk of Moraime as they accepted her barter.
“No,” said Morigna, her voice soft as she settled her head back against his chest. “I don’t. I’ve read about so many places in the Old Man’s books. The High King’s citadel in Tarlion. The cities of Cintarra and Coldinium. The Three Kingdoms of the dwarves. Cathair Solas and the Isle of Kordain. I want to see them all.”
“Let us go together, then,” said Nathan. “You and I. We’ll see all the world.”
Morigna said nothing.
“From one sea to another,” said Nathan. “From the Three Kingdoms to the grasslands of the manetaur.” Morigna could picture it inside her head, from the maps in the Old Man’s books. “From the east to the west, from the sunrise to the sunset. What do you say?”
She hesitated, and wondered why she hesitated. There was nothing for her in Moraime. Her parents had been dead for twelve years. She had no friends within the walls of the town. She loved magic, loved learning spells and developing her skills, but the Old Man was a capricious teacher.
She would not miss him…and she would not miss Moraime.
“Yes,” said Morigna. “Yes, of course I’ll go with you. Wherever we want.”
“We’ll need to see the entire world, of course,” said Nathan with a grin. “And after that, once we are wearied from travel, perhaps we can find someplace quiet to settle. Somewhere with not too many people, but plenty of deer.”
“Aye,” murmured Morigna. She found the thought pleasant. The Old Man had taught her a spell to filter her blood, and adapting it to keep herself from becoming pregnant with Nathan’s child had been simple enough. The thought of settling in Moraime as Nathan’s pregnant mistress, in the midst of those cold and suspicious townsfolk, had been ghastly. And she had seen enough animals being born to know that birth was a bloody and painful and dangerous business.
But if they settled someplace far from Moraime, a place where they could live in peace…then she would gladly bear Nathan’s child. As many as she could, in fact.
She could have a family again.
“You’re crying,” said Nathan. He looked chagrined. “Did I say something?”
“No,” said Morigna. She blinked, wiped at her eyes, and laughed. “Well, yes, but you said the right thing. It’s just…those are lovely thoughts. And…yes, of course. Yes, I will go away with you.”
He grinned and kissed her. “I thought you might.”
###
The next morning Nathan departed for Moraime to gather what few possessions he needed.
And then they would journey south together. He wanted to see the great city of Cintarra along the coast. According to the Old Man’s books, a hundred thousand people lived within Cintarra’s proud walls. The thought boggled Morigna’s mind. A hundred thousand people? She simply could not imagine that many people in once place.
She had little enough to pack, so once she finished she wandered the hills near her cave, watching the trees and the slopes. A strange feeling filled her, and Morigna realized that she was happy.
For the first time since the dvargir had come through the cottage door, she was happy. Not content, but happy.
It was a strange feeling, but wonderful.
“I am always suspicious of smiles.”
Morigna’s mood soured.
She turned and saw the Old Man standing next to a lichen-spotted boulder, his ragged gray coat hanging loose around him.
“I was enjoying the pleasure of my own company,” said Morigna, “but then you had to come and spoil the party.”
He offered no reaction to her barb. “It has been weeks, my dear child, and you have not come to your lessons.”
“I haven’t felt the need,” said Morigna.
“I suppose not,” he said, scowling, “given that you have been apparently occupied with…other matters.”
“Have you been spying on me?” said Morigna, but she already knew the answer to that.
The Old Man sneered. “The hunter? I suppose he is a strapping sort of fellow, though utterly lacking in intellect. What one could talk to him about, other deer entrails, I cannot imagine. But perhaps that is just as well. You look as if your brain dribbled out of your ear when you talk to him. Perhaps you prefer gazing raptly at an idiot while he talks of turkey spoor to the mysteries of magic…”
“Do not,” said Morigna, her voice hard, “insult him. Ever. Or you and I are finished.”
“Fine,” said the Old Man. “So what do you intend to do, hmm? Move to Moraime and bear a half a dozen of his brats?”
“No,” said Morigna. “We are leaving, and shall never return.”
The Old Man blinked. “Leaving? To go where?”
“Anywhere we want,” said Morigna.
“You…you have no skills,” said the Old Man, and for the first time in the twelve years Morigna had known him, he looked flustered. “How will you eat? You’ll have to become a prostitute to survive. You…”
“We can both hunt and track,” said Morigna, “and I have lived alone in the wild for years. We know how to take care of ourselves.”
“You do not!” said the Old Man with a growl. He stepped closer and pointed a bony finger in her face. “And I have not spent years training you and preparing you only for you to run off into the wild, you ingrate!”
Morigna slapped his finger out of her face. “Preparing me? Preparing me for what?”
But the Old Man said nothing, a vein throbbing in his temple.
“Did you think I would spend the rest of my life living in the hills?” said Morigna. “Is that why you took me in? So you would have a maid to wait upon you in your imminent dotage?”
“I require nothing,” said the Old Man. “But you have not yet finished your training. There is so much more I can teach you. I…”
“Then why haven’t you?” said Morigna. “There are things you could have taught me, I know, but you haven’t. You’re afraid I’ll use them against you.” She sighed and let out a long breath. “I am…grateful that you took me in after the dvargir murdered my mother and father, but let us be honest with one another.”
“I insist upon it,” said the Old Man, voice dry.
“We detest each other,” said Morigna. “I cannot stand you, and you irritate me to no end. It is time we parted ways.”
“Ungrateful child,” said the Old Man. “You turn your back on the wonders I offer?”
“Yes,” said Morigna. “Farewell, Old Man. I wish you joy in your life. Assuming you can still find any.”
She walked away from him without a word, and she felt his eyes digging into her back.
###
The next morning Nathan Vorinus returned, and Morigna took her pack and departed her cave for the last time.
“We’ll head south,” said Nathan, walking through the undergrowth. “Coldinium is on the way to Cintarra, and perhaps we’ll stop in there.” He laughed. “Jonas talks about Coldinium so much, but he’s never been there. Then we’ll the road past the Lake of Battles to Cintarra.” He thought for a moment. “I assume there is a road. All the maps in the monastery's old books say so, but the books are hundreds of years old. Maybe the Frostborn or the urdmordar or something destroyed out the roads.”
Morigna smiled. “Yes, I’m sure the Frostborn and the urdmordar conquered Andomhaim simply to wage war upon the High King’s roads. Perhaps…”
Nathan went motionless.
“What is it?” said Morigna.
Nathan pointed, and Morigna saw a deer grazing near a stand of pine trees at the foot of a rocky hill. She smiled, and he grinned back. They were, after all, in no hurry, and some meat to start off their journey would be welcome. Nathan reached for his bow, strung it, and set an arrow to the weapon, moving with the calm, fluid movements of th
e practiced hunter.
He released the arrow, and the deer moved at the very last second. Instead of slamming into its heart or throat, the shaft plunged into the deer’s flank. The beast took off at a limping run, leaving behind a trail of crimson droplets.
“Damn it,” said Nathan, lowering his bow. “I should have made that shot.”
“It is not your fault,” said Morigna. “It moved just as you released.”
“Well, I hit it, at least,” said Nathan, starting forward, and Morigna followed suit. “We should find it and put it out of its misery.”
Finding the deer would not be hard. The trail of blood droplets got bigger the farther south they went. If they waited long enough, likely the deer would bleed out.
They followed the trail for another hour, and then Morigna came to an abrupt halt.
“What is it?” said Nathan.
“I don’t think,” said Morigna, “we should go any further.”
Nathan frowned. “We are close to the Old Man’s cottage, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” said Morigna, pointing, “but that worries me more.”
A tall, rocky hill rose up ahead, its sides cloaked in pine trees. At the top of the hill stood a double ring of tall, black standing stones, some supporting lintels to create archways. Strange carvings and scenes adorned the sides of the menhirs, showing robed figures torturing and killing humans and elves and halflings.
Even without working a spell, Morigna sensed the faint presence of dark magic from the menhirs.
Circles of such standing stones stood scattered throughout the hills. The dark elves had raised them in ancient times, the Old Man had warned her, using them to augment their mighty sorcery. The urdmordar had destroyed the dark elven kingdoms long ago, but their standing stones remained, loci of dark power to draw the foolish and the reckless.
And the surviving creatures of the dark elves, the urvaalgs and the ursaars and worse things.
Nathan did not seem alarmed. But, then, he could not sense the malevolent power sleeping atop the hill.
The Mage's Tale Page 3