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

that of all the things he might be, prissy was not one.
    Weger continued on with his list of things mages befouled, but Morgan could hardly pay attention to it, much less muster up any enthusiasm for it. She found that she couldn’t look Miach in the eye either. Every time she did, she faltered.
    Damn him to hell, why had he come?
    â€œMorgan, be about it!”
    She raised her sword and attacked Miach, but she was weak and clumsy. Perhaps Weger was the one who should be damned. Why was he goading her so? It wasn’t possible he knew who Miach was.
    Was it?
    â€œBloody hell,” Miach exclaimed, flinching suddenly.
    Morgan looked at his arm and saw the rent there in his sleeve—and the slice across his arm under the rent. Her sword fell from her hand and landed with a clang against the stone under her feet. “I’m so sorry,” she said, embarrassed beyond belief.
    Miach shook his head. “My fault. I was in your way.”
    The arm of his tunic was rapidly growing wet. Weger stepped around her and examined the wound. She watched in consternation as Weger borrowed a marginally clean rag from another student and cinched it tight around Miach’s arm.
    â€œHave that seen to,” Weger commanded.
    Miach nodded and resheathed his sword. “I’ll return as soon as I have.”
    â€œMiach,” Morgan began weakly.
    â€œâ€™Twas an accident, no more.” He smiled at her. “Not to worry.”
    She would have tried to apologize again, but he shook his head quickly. He put his hand briefly on her shoulder as he passed her. She turned and watched him walk across the courtyard and lope easily down the stairs.
    Weger picked up her sword, resheathed it, and handed it to his page.
    â€œStephen, take that back to her chamber and see food provided for her.”
    â€œOf course, my lord.”
    Weger draped her cloak around her shoulders. “I provoked you prematurely,” was all he said before he turned and walked away.
    Morgan watched numbly as the handful of other men who had been watching followed Weger up the stairs. She stood there and blinked against the faint light from the winter sun. She had never once in her long and illustrious career at Gobhann cut another soul accidentally. She had never, as it happened, cut someone intentionally. It had been a matter of pride with her, that she should be careful and skilled enough to have full control over her blade at all times.
    She turned and made her way slowly over to the wall, leaned on it until she’d caught her breath, then started to shuffle along it, using it like a cane to steady herself.
    She wished she’d had her sword.
    Â 
    S he spent the evening in front of the fire in Weger’s gathering chamber. She couldn’t bring herself to go to bed. She’d slept the afternoon away and found herself troubled not by dreams of destroying legendary swords, but by dreams of bad swordplay. She had fought opponent after opponent but managed to cut every last bloody one of them.
    Sleep, apparently, was not what she needed at present.
    She excused herself to escape the food Weger was trying to force on her and managed to walk all the way to the door and out into the passageway without stopping. She wasn’t going to examine how long it took to catch her breath after she’d closed the door behind her.
    She was, she supposed, very fortunate to be alive.
    She made her way out to the courtyard, then stood on the edge of it and let the wind blow across her face. She stood there for quite some time, grateful for an empty place where she could wheeze with abandon. Unfortunately, it wasn’t empty for long. She pulled back into the shadows at the sight of someone striding across the courtyard with a truly appalling display of energy.
    She realized immediately that it was Miach. And just where did he think he was off to at this time of night in such haste?
    Before she could think better of it, she followed him