Read Online The Mage's Daughter by Lynn Kurland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lynn Kurland
Ads: Link
across the upper yard and through the gate set into the far wallâthough she did it at a much slower pace. She came out eventually into a smallish, flat place that was even more inhospitable than the courtyard inside the walls. The wind was blowing a gale and it cut through her as if she wore nothing at all. The only means of escape was a staircase, cut into the side of the mountain. She looked up and saw a black figure near its top.
What was he doing up there?
She supposed that if sheâd had any sense at all, she would have turned around and gone straight to bed. No doubt Stephen had left some species of delicate tea there by her bedside to tempt her. It might actually still be warm if she hurried.
She decided that it could wait. She walked carefully across the courtyard and paused in front of the steps. She stood there for quite some time, trying to judge whether or not she could manage them. They werenât necessarily narrow, but they were very steep, very uneven, and they were flanked by rough rock on one side and on the otherâ¦well, nothing at all.
She climbed five steps before she had to stop and rest. It was madness. She should have crawled back down those five steps, congratulated herself on a show of wit, then hurried as quickly as possible back to her chamber.
Instead, she continued to climb. Perhaps Miach couldnât tend his arm himself and she could be of some use. âTwas a certainty he would never ask for aid freely, so perhaps she should simply demand that he allow her to see to it.
All for the good of the realm, of course, nothing more.
She climbed for hours. Well, perhaps it wasnât hours, but it felt like it. The weather was terrible, the wind frightening in its ferocity, and her own form simply unequal to the task of climbing more than a handful of steps at a time before having to rest again. She reached the top at last, drenched and freezing and firmly convinced sheâd lost her mind. She would never, ever climb those steps again.
She remained where she was for quite some time, struggling to breathe in enough air to satisfy her burning lungs.
Eventually, she looked at the door and saw the keyhole there. That did her no good given that she had no key, nor any useful tools to use in besting such a simple lock. As an afterthought, she pushed on the door.
To her surprise, it gave way.
She peered inside. It was a smallish sort of chamber, boasting not even so much as a chair. There was certainly no hearth for keeping a body warm, nor any windows for allowing a body to see what the weather was doing. She knew all this thanks to the soft, warm glow that came from a ball of werelight that hovered near the ceiling.
Werelight?
Miach sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the chamber, silent and unmoving. Morgan took a step inside to investigate both him and his light, then gasped as magic slammed into her like a wave. Her own magic. Magic she had never wanted, had desperately tried to deny having, and would have cut from her if sheâd been able.
The door slammed shut as she fell back against it, which she supposed saved her from a tumble down the stairs. She closed her eyes as she drowned in dreams and spells and things she shouldnât have known anything about.
No wonder Miach came here.
She was curious how heâd found the place, but decided that was something she didnât need to know. She stumbled past him and managed to get herself down onto the floor without too much trouble. She leaned against the wall facing him and watched him.
He didnât look much worse for the wear of his wounded arm, but he did look tired. She wondered how long it was he spent each night in such a terrible place, doing whatever it was archmages did. For all she knew, he was simply snoozing.
Then again, perhaps not. Though the room was bitterly cold, there seemed to be some sort of heat coming from him. Was he making magic? She supposed that was possible. It was also
What was he doing up there?
She supposed that if sheâd had any sense at all, she would have turned around and gone straight to bed. No doubt Stephen had left some species of delicate tea there by her bedside to tempt her. It might actually still be warm if she hurried.
She decided that it could wait. She walked carefully across the courtyard and paused in front of the steps. She stood there for quite some time, trying to judge whether or not she could manage them. They werenât necessarily narrow, but they were very steep, very uneven, and they were flanked by rough rock on one side and on the otherâ¦well, nothing at all.
She climbed five steps before she had to stop and rest. It was madness. She should have crawled back down those five steps, congratulated herself on a show of wit, then hurried as quickly as possible back to her chamber.
Instead, she continued to climb. Perhaps Miach couldnât tend his arm himself and she could be of some use. âTwas a certainty he would never ask for aid freely, so perhaps she should simply demand that he allow her to see to it.
All for the good of the realm, of course, nothing more.
She climbed for hours. Well, perhaps it wasnât hours, but it felt like it. The weather was terrible, the wind frightening in its ferocity, and her own form simply unequal to the task of climbing more than a handful of steps at a time before having to rest again. She reached the top at last, drenched and freezing and firmly convinced sheâd lost her mind. She would never, ever climb those steps again.
She remained where she was for quite some time, struggling to breathe in enough air to satisfy her burning lungs.
Eventually, she looked at the door and saw the keyhole there. That did her no good given that she had no key, nor any useful tools to use in besting such a simple lock. As an afterthought, she pushed on the door.
To her surprise, it gave way.
She peered inside. It was a smallish sort of chamber, boasting not even so much as a chair. There was certainly no hearth for keeping a body warm, nor any windows for allowing a body to see what the weather was doing. She knew all this thanks to the soft, warm glow that came from a ball of werelight that hovered near the ceiling.
Werelight?
Miach sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the chamber, silent and unmoving. Morgan took a step inside to investigate both him and his light, then gasped as magic slammed into her like a wave. Her own magic. Magic she had never wanted, had desperately tried to deny having, and would have cut from her if sheâd been able.
The door slammed shut as she fell back against it, which she supposed saved her from a tumble down the stairs. She closed her eyes as she drowned in dreams and spells and things she shouldnât have known anything about.
No wonder Miach came here.
She was curious how heâd found the place, but decided that was something she didnât need to know. She stumbled past him and managed to get herself down onto the floor without too much trouble. She leaned against the wall facing him and watched him.
He didnât look much worse for the wear of his wounded arm, but he did look tired. She wondered how long it was he spent each night in such a terrible place, doing whatever it was archmages did. For all she knew, he was simply snoozing.
Then again, perhaps not. Though the room was bitterly cold, there seemed to be some sort of heat coming from him. Was he making magic? She supposed that was possible. It was also
Similar Books
