The Mage's Daughter

by Lynn Kurland

  Except for the fact that turning her back on what she could do wouldn’t do anything for the number of monsters that would still come hunt her.

  Tears leaked out of her eyes and trailed down her temples to dampen her hair. How could she possibly face the sunrise each day knowing that she would never again share another one with Mochriadhemiach of Neroche? She would never again feel his hand on her hair, hear her name from his lips, watch him smile that grave smile he wore when she suspected he was thinking how much he loved her.

  She wept for quite a long time.

  The clouds continued to drift by and the sun turned toward the west. Morgan sat up finally, dragged her bloody hands through her hair, then waited until her head stopped spinning before she staggered to her feet. She resheathed her sword and stuck Mehar’s knife back down her boot. She would have to face life sooner or later. Perhaps if she got the pain over with quickly, it wouldn’t be so terrible. She took a deep breath, then looked around her to get her bearings.

  Searbhe was lying quite a distance away from her. She couldn’t find Miach, though, which left her a little breathless. Was he so gory, then, that they wouldn’t allow her to see him?

  She saw her grandfather’s elves busily dragging trolls into piles. Sosar and Làidir were bending over to study a corpse lying at their feet. Sìle was standing several feet away, arguing fiercely with a tall, dark-haired man who was covered in blood. Morgan could hardly believe her eyes.

  That was Miach.

  A sound escaped her. She was sure it hadn’t been a pleasant sound, and it had Miach immediately turning to look at her. She ran toward him, but tripped and went sprawling. She found herself caught in strong arms and clutched tightly against a chest that was no longer sporting an enormous hole.

  She burst into tears.

  It was loud, uncontrollable, and messy weeping, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She’d never been so completely undone in her entire life.

  “I’m all right,” Miach said soothingly. “Morgan, I’m all right.”

  She would have cursed him, but what came out of her mouth was another noise of agony so terrible that it frightened her.

  Miach swung her up into his arms and carried her over to a tree stump, away from the field of battle. Morgan felt him sit, settle her more comfortably on his lap, then begin to rock her as if she were a child who needed comfort. She didn’t protest.

  Losing him had been every bit as awful as she’d feared it would be that afternoon in Hearn’s hayloft when she’d first considered it. But having his arms around her, his hand smoothing over her hair, his chest rising and falling against hers with each breath he took—that was even more devastating than having thought she’d lost him. She wondered, absently, if she would ever be able to release him.

  She suspected not.

  She had no sense of how much time passed as she sat with her arms around his neck, her face pressed against his hair. When she thought she could open her mouth without shrieking, she pulled back and looked at him.

  “You idiot,” she croaked. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

  “A worthy sentiment,” Sìle put in from behind her.

  Morgan heard her grandfather’s voice and realized that behind her lay the first matter she should address. She shot Miach a warning look. “I need to talk to my grandfather, but don’t go. I’m not finished with you.”

  He only smiled gravely. His eyes were, as it happened, quite full of something that might have passed for tears. “I’m thankful for that,” he murmured.

  She glared at him, just so he wouldn’t think she planned on giving him any flowery sentiments, then pushed herself up off his lap. She turned and threw her arms around her grandfather. “Thank you,” she said, unable to fight the catch in her voice. “I would have lost him if I had been alone. Anything I can do to repay you, I will do.”

  He hesitated only slightly before he returned the embrace. “It was nothing, Mhorghain,” he said gruffly.

  “You know it wasn’t,” she said quietly, pulling away and looking at him. “You have given me back my life. I am in your debt.”

  He looked at her, startled, then looked around her, presumably at Miach. He embraced her again, made a few gruff noises, then set her back with an awkward pat on her shoulder. “I’ll remember that.”

  “I imagine you will,” Morgan said with a smile. Then she turned and looked at Miach. “I find, however, that I have a very different list of things to say to you.”

  He only looked up at her, clear-eyed. “I imagine you do.”

  “Would you like my grandfather to enjoy them with you, or shall I take you off and flay you alive in private?”

  He managed a smile. “I’ll leave that choice to you. But first perhaps you would care to have my apology.”

  “Your apology?” she echoed in disbelief. “Why in the hell would you bother with that, you treacherous bastard—especially when I have no doubt you’ll leave me behind again the first chance you have!”

  Sìle grunted and walked away.

  Morgan found that her mouth was hanging open. It matched Miach’s perfectly. She’d never seen him look quite so startled. She shut her mouth with a snap.

  “I meant to say—”

  “Precisely that,” he said, reaching out and jerking her down onto his lap, “which I deserved.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. “I almost woke you and told you to get dressed and come with me.”

  “Why didn’t you?” she asked, pained.

  “Because I cannot take you where I’m going.”

  “Why not?” she asked in surprise.

  He started to speak, then shut his mouth into a grim line and shook his head.

  “Do you want me to guess?”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “Please don’t.”

  “Do you think I’m afraid?”

  He shook his head slowly. “And that is what makes me afraid.”

  She crawled ungracefully off his lap, then wrapped her arms around herself. “I am not going to marry you, Miach, if you’re planning on leaving me behind every time you suspect a small bump in the road.”

  “This is not a small bump, Morgan.”

  “Tell me what it is and let me decide that for myself.”

  He looked up at her for a moment or two in silence, then sighed. “I will later. I need to go clean up first.”

  She watched him heave himself unsteadily to his feet. He swayed, then steadied. She took the hand he offered instead of throwing herself in his arms again, which was what she would rather have been doing. Perhaps he was afraid if she got too close, she would stab him.

  She was tempted.

  But since he’d just been through that, she supposed it would be cruel to put him through it again. She walked with him silently over to where her grandfather and uncles were studying what was left on the ground.

  Làidir looked up as they approached. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Aye, you have,” Sosar said. “Remember Cruadal?”

  Làidir shot Miach a look. “We didn’t find him amongst the dead, you know.”

  Miach sighed deeply. “I don’t imagine you did. I also don’t think it will serve us to go look for him. I can almost guarantee he will either remain close to us or run to Riamh. All we can do is keep our eyes open and wait to see which it is.” He looked at Sosar. “I’m not certain where he saw the creatures before he arrived in Seanagarra.” He started to speak, then shook his head again and said no more.

  Morgan decided that perhaps there would come a time later that day when she would draw her sword and pin him against a tree with it and prod a few answers from him.

  It was a certainty that she would have no answers from the men in front of her. Miach was exchanging meaningful looks with her uncles, but nothing else useful was being said.

  She supposed it would have gone on for the remainder of the afternoon if she’d allowed it. Her only option was to force their hands. She turned and lo
oked at Miach coolly.

  “Perhaps instead of looking them over, we should see to the corpses. You and I need to be going soon—”

  “Absolutely not!” Sìle roared. “I’ll not have it!”

  Morgan looked at her grandfather. “It is my choice to go with him, Grandfather,” she said calmly.

  “Which choice you wouldn’t have even thought of if this mage here hadn’t suggested it to you. I knew he wasn’t to be trusted.” Sìle shot Miach a glare. “And here I was prepared to suffer you—”

  “He doesn’t want Mhorghain to come with him, Father,” Sosar said quietly. “He didn’t need to stage this whole battle if his intent was to merely take Mhorghain to the—”

  “Sosar!” Miach exclaimed.

  Morgan looked at them, knew that Miach had trusted Sosar with details he hadn’t been willing to give to her, and couldn’t decide if she was furious or if her feelings smarted.

  Furious was better.

  She strode away before she couldn’t stop herself from drawing her sword and doing him in for good this time. She walked down the bank to the lazily flowing river there, then knelt and washed her hands. She washed her face as well and worked on the spatters of blood on her sleeves. Those were hopeless and ’twas Miach’s blood anyway, so she let them be. She finally did nothing but kneel there in the mud and watch the water.

  She didn’t like where she found herself. She was accustomed to leading the charge, not being told to go back to the house and wait whilst the men took care of the truly difficult work. And she simply couldn’t face another day where she woke thinking, knowing that Miach was dead and she could have prevented it if she had been with him.

  It was almost enough to convince her that perhaps she should take Mehar’s ring, hand it back to him, and bid him a final farewell.

  She heard soft footsteps behind her, but she didn’t turn. Miach knelt down next to her and was silent for a minute. She was afraid if she looked at him, she would stab him, so she continued to simply look down into the water. She heard him strip off his shirt, then saw out of the corner of her eye that he had leaned forward to wash the blood from his arms and chest.

  She didn’t think; she merely gave him a hearty shove.

  He went rolling into the water. She would have told him that he deserved it, but before she managed to open her mouth and get the words out, she found herself being jerked into the water as well.

  The river was deeper than it looked. She resurfaced with a curse, coughing out things she hadn’t intended to ingest. She managed to get to her feet only to find Miach unbuckling her swordbelt.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

  “Ridding you of any potential weapons,” he said, reaching down into the water and pulling Mehar’s knife free of her boot. He tossed it onto the bank with her sword.

  She tried to get past him, but he caught her about the waist and turned her to him.

  “Let me go,” she snapped.

  “Nay.”

  She scowled up at him. “You’re going to leave me behind again, aren’t you?”

  He sighed deeply and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Morgan, I will not take you any farther on this journey.”

  “And when was it, my lord Archmage, that I became a helpless woman who is only fit to sit and stitch whilst you’re about the business of keeping the realm safe?” she said sharply. “I am part of the Nine Kingdoms too. If I cannot do my part as well as you, then what use am I?”

  “Do you have any idea,” he said through gritted teeth, “what it would do to me if I lost you?”

  “Actually,” she said quietly, “I do.”

  He opened his mouth, then apparently realized what she meant. He suddenly looked quite winded. He looked at her for a long moment in silence, then bent and carefully rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, Morgan, for this morning,” he whispered.

  “Yet you’ll leave me behind again.”

  He lifted his head. “Aye.”

  She was rather grateful to be drenched from head to toe. It hid her tears quite nicely. “I am beginning to think you don’t want me—”

  His eyes widened, then he jerked her against him and cut off her words with his mouth. She tried to protest the tactic, but realized rather quickly that Miach wasn’t at all interested in idle chatter. He kissed her until she began to have trouble staying on her feet. He took her hands and put them around his neck, then pulled her hard against him and kissed her quite a bit longer.

  Then he suddenly tore his mouth away. “Wash your hair,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll comb it out for you.”

  She reached out and took his face in her hands so she could force him to look at her. “I will not let you leave without me. I’ll come and guard your back.”

  He smiled wearily. “Of course, Morgan.”

  She was vaguely unsatisfied with that answer, but saw that she would have nothing more from him. She rinsed things out of her hair she preferred not to identify, then climbed out of the water and stood on the bank, shivering, while she waited for Miach to finish. He came out of the water dripping, but looking much more like himself. He gathered her blades for her, then took her hand and his ruined tunic and walked with her back to where a fire had been built near the trees. Morgan saw that Sìle’s elven army was gone. Only Làidir, Sosar, and Sìle remained, but Làidir was wearing a cloak and looked ready for travel.

  “We’ve decided,” Làidir said, “that one of us needs to return home now. I’ll go and take Mhorghain with me.”

  “Mhorghain isn’t going with you,” Miach said. He shot Làidir a look. “Let me walk with you a minute so I might give you my final thanks, if you don’t mind.”

  Morgan watched them go off together. She might have enjoyed the sight of them speaking companionably, but she was too busy wondering what they were saying about her. They spoke in low voices for quite some time, then Làidir turned himself into a powerful eagle and soared off into the west.

  Sìle sighed.

  Morgan watched Miach come back to the fire. He caught a tunic Sosar tossed him and pulled it over his head. He took off his boots, set them down by the fire, then sat down on a stump. He produced a comb from somewhere and looked at her.

  “Come and sit, love,” he said quietly.

  She took off her own boots, set them next to his by the fire, then sat down in front of him. She wanted to ask a score of questions, but she knew she would have no answers. Even Sosar wouldn’t meet her eyes. She gave in, for the moment, and closed her eyes as Miach worked on her hair.

  “Sosar, you saw to the trolls?” he asked quietly.

  “I did. And Father has provided us with a covering here. Lads may walk toward us, but the glamour will confuse them and send them in another direction. We’re safe enough.”

  “Thank you,” Miach said quietly.

  There was, for quite some time, nothing but the sound of the fire popping and cracking in front of her. She opened her eyes, finally, once Miach had finished working tangles from her hair and was simply trailing his fingers through it. Sosar was watching them with a sad smile on his face. Her grandfather, though, wasn’t looking at her; he was watching Miach. She didn’t bother to try to decipher what his expression might mean.

  “Perhaps we should be on our way,” Sosar said casually. “Beinn òrain, Miach?”

  “Hmmm,” Miach agreed. “In a bit. When Mhorghain’s boots are dry.”

  Morgan knew exactly what he planned because she would have done the same thing. He was going to wait until she’d fallen asleep, then desert her without a backward glance.

  Well, there was no sense in not helping him along.

  She yawned. “I think I might want a little nap before we go. What do you think, uncle?” she asked, looking at Sosar pointedly.

  His eyes widened for a moment, then he suddenly produced a considerable yawn. “I agree. A little rest is just the thing for us.”

  Sìle said nothing. He merely sat with his feet toward the fire, his arm
s resting on his knees, looking for all the world like a soldier who had seen so many battles that they had ceased to hold any excitement for him.

  Or he would have, if he hadn’t looked so much like an elven king, beautiful and terrible.

  He wasn’t watching her, though; he was watching Miach.

  Morgan took Miach’s hands that were resting on her shoulders and pulled them forward so she could wrap his arms around her. “Thank you, my love,” she said leaning back to kiss his cheek. “I think, though, that I truly do need a rest.”

  “Of course, Morgan.”

  She squeezed his arms briefly, then stretched out near the fire. She closed her eyes, let her breathing deepen, then waited for the inevitable to happen.

  “You would give your life for hers.”

  “Aye, Your Grace. And I will.”

  “She will mourn.”

  “She will be alive to do so.”

  “All right…Miach.”

  Morgan continued to breathe evenly. She would wait, then follow him before he could leave without her.

  Again.

  She heard him rise at midnight. She listened to him walk off with a lightness of step she had to admire, then she tapped the top of Sosar’s head with her toe.

  Sosar lifted his head slowly, looked toward where Miach had gone, then looked at her. “Aye?”

  “Where’s he going?”

  Sosar closed his eyes briefly. “The well.”

  “Damn him to hell,” she whispered fiercely. She rose soundlessly and looked down at her uncle. “I’m going with him.”

  Sosar reached out and put his hand on her foot. “Take care of him, niece. And yourself.”

  She nodded, then turned and melted into the shadows. She made it only a few paces into the darkness before she found herself slowing to an uncomfortable stop.

  She didn’t want to face what was there in front of her mind’s eye, but she knew she could avoid it no longer. If Miach tried to shut that well, he would fail. Just as her mother had.