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

his brothers out of his way as the occasion arose.
    But this was something else entirely.
    It had begun the moment he’d set foot inside Weger’s gates. He’d had the luxury of but a handful of heartbeats to accustom himself to having his magic snuffed out as if it had been a particularly offensive candle before he’d been assaulted by the gatekeeper. He had passed that first test easily only because he’d been expecting the like and he’d been prepared for it. The successive challenges had been increasingly difficult, but he’d expected that as well.
    He hadn’t shown as well as he would have liked, but he’d been distracted by all the looking about he’d done to see if Morgan was there. He hadn’t expected Morgan to be engaging in any swordplay, but he had assumed he would at least see her.
    He hadn’t—not even in the uppermost circle where he’d come face-to-face with Scrymgeour Weger himself. That had truly been a moment worth recording in the annals of the histories of the archmages of Neroche. He’d wondered, absently, what Cathar would have said if he’d been watching. Nothing polite, no doubt.
    He bowed his head and tried to stretch his aching shoulders. Well, at least he had the comfort of not finding himself immediately thrown back out the gates, or over the walls, or whatever Weger did with those completely unworthy of his time. That he’d been allowed to stay had been flattering, but it hadn’t solved any of his more pressing problems, the first being that he still had no idea if Morgan was truly inside the keep or not.
    He had to know. Soon. The realm could not wait.
    He rose and drew his cloak around him as he left his cell. He would have to search while he was at liberty to do something besides hoist a sword. At least he’d had the good sense to wear black to Adhémar’s wedding. It allowed him to be less conspicuous whilst he did a bit of spying to see if Morgan was indeed inside the keep.
    He walked along silently, then paused at the entrance to the common dining chamber. He listened for several moments, but heard nothing useful so he continued on. He wandered through passageways, up several staircases, and along the edges of the courtyards. Unfortunately, he seemed to be the only one fool enough not to make the best use of dark by sleeping.
    He finally stopped in the uppermost courtyard where he’d encountered Scrymgeour Weger. It was empty, as empty as every other place he’d been that night.
    Or, perhaps not.
    He spun around, his sword halfway from its sheath, only to come face-to-face with Weger himself. He resheathed his sword and nodded to the lord of Gobhann. He bowed for good measure, but Weger didn’t acknowledge it. He was merely still, as if he’d been made of stone.
    Miach supposed that was how he intimidated—though he wondered why the man bothered. Surely rumors of his sword skill were enough to terrify all but those too stupid to realize their peril. Miach was not that sort of lad and he understood the danger quite well. He didn’t flinch as Weger regarded him impassively, but he was tensed and ready for any sort of assault.
    Weger turned suddenly and started across the courtyard. “Follow me,” he threw over his shoulder.
    Miach supposed he had no choice. He followed, but warily. Was Weger going to throw him off the parapet? Miach supposed he wouldn’t find it an easy task, nor was Miach particularly worried about the descent. Surely the tower’s dampening influence did not extend past the walls. If nothing else, he would change himself into a hawk, or a breeze, or a bit of dew as he fell and regroup when he landed.
    Weger led him over to the far wall of the upper courtyard enclosure and opened a gate that Miach hadn’t noticed before. Miach followed him through it and out onto another flat space that couldn’t have been called a courtyard, but couldn’t truly