The Mage's Daughter by Lynn Kurland Read Free Book Online

accommodations. Work begins at dawn tomorrow.”
    Miach bowed low, then bowed to Paul as well.
    But he looked about the courtyard, as if he searched for something in particular. Morgan jerked backward into the shadows. She wasn’t at all sure that Miach wouldn’t be able to hear her heart pounding from where she stood, though she was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to see her. She was too far in darkness for that.
    He looked worried. Perhaps he feared he would never escape back out Weger’s gates. Perhaps he worried he wouldn’t make it past the first se’nnight. She couldn’t imagine that he was worried he hadn’t seen her.
    He left in the keeping of the novices’ mentor. Morgan watched him until he disappeared out of sight, then jumped at the feel of Weger’s hand on her arm.
    â€œMorgan, go to bed,” he said shortly. “You’re of absolutely no use to anyone if you can’t keep yourself on your feet.”
    She was surprised enough at him calling her by her name, something he had never done, to allow him to pull her toward the hallway that would eventually lead to her chamber. His usual term for her was woman or wench or simply a grunt in her direction. Perhaps he was more concerned about her than she’d suspected.
    She let him escort her to her chamber itself and didn’t argue when Stephen caught up with them, bearing yet more food.
    She also didn’t argue when Weger stood in her doorway and glared at her until she finished as much of her supper as he determined she should.
    â€œNow sleep, wench,” he ordered, then slammed her door shut.
    Morgan sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. She would sleep, just as soon as she allowed herself to wonder about a few things.
    Miach had to have known his magic would be useless inside Gobhann, hadn’t he? If he hadn’t, he surely would have felt it the moment he stepped beyond the gate.
    Yet he had continued on through his initiation challenges just the same.
    She couldn’t bring herself to believe he had come for her, but she could think of no other reason. The question was why. All he’d ever wanted from her had been her hand on the Sword of Angesand, but since that sword was now gone, her usefulness to him should have disappeared as well.
    Had he come to censure her for her actions? If so, then why had he waited until she’d come inside Gobhann? He could have come south at any time and shouted at her.
    But he hadn’t. He hadn’t shouted at her, not even after she’d destroyed a sword that had been in his family for generations. He’d just looked at her with pity in his eyes, as if he had known what she suffered and wished he hadn’t been a part of it.
    She decided abruptly that she didn’t care why he was there. She had her own life to live, a life that did not include magic, finger-waggling, or an archmage who had no sword skill.
    She put herself to bed before she had to think on it any longer.

Three
    M iach sat on a stool in what could be generously termed a cell and wondered what in the hell he’d been thinking to come anywhere near Gobhann.
    He was without magic, without a sighting of Morgan, and without even so much as a dab of horse liniment to use in rubbing out the knots he could feel all through his back thanks to Weger’s brutal and relentless training regimen. He’d spent the previous three days training with the sword from dawn until well past sunset. The only respite from swordplay had been those pauses several times during the day when he’d been invited to run up the stairs from the base of the keep to its parapet and back down again to improve his stamina.
    And he’d entered Weger’s gates willingly?
    He was beginning to wonder if he’d lost his mind.
    It wasn’t that he was unaccustomed to physical work. He did stir himself to go out to the lists now and then. He tended his own horse, cut his own meat, shoved