The Scourge of Muirwood (10 page)

Her boots thudded against the polished tiles and she was struck with the splendour of the place, especially in contrast to the manor house in Muirwood. There were vases full of fresh flowers, mirrors and bowls and sculptures of polished stone. There were rows of small pillars with spherical orbs the size of pumpkins polished to a shine as decoration, for she could discern no other purpose for them. Tall velvet curtains flanked the walls and hung from silver rods. She inhaled through her nose and discovered the faint scent of incense again, permeating the air though she did not see any braziers.

“This way, lass,” said the porter as she nearly stumbled into him when he stopped.

“The grounds are impressive,” Lia said.

“Augustin is the only Abbey in this Hundred,” he replied. “Ahead, if you please.” He knocked on the door firmly.

The door opened and a venerable maston appeared, wearing a silvery cassock with black threading.

“Tell the Aldermaston he has
another
maston visiting from Muirwood,” the porter said.

Lia noticed the inflection in his voice and was surprised when the aged maston nodded and motioned for Lia to enter.

“Your name, child?”

“I am Lia.”

“So young to be a maston,” he observed. His brow furrowed as he examined her unkempt appearance. She felt awkward being in such a pristine place.

“Who is it now?” complained a voice thick with a northern accent. He rose from a stuffed couch, a goblet in his hand which he set down on a marble pillar. He was very young for an Aldermaston, probably not even fifty. His hair was shorn very close to his scalp and it was dark with occasional slivers of gray. He was healthy, athletic, and approached with a swagger, his mouth twisting into a scowl at the look of her.

“Look at you, as filthy as a beggar. You are a maston, are you? You hail from Muirwood?”

“I do,” Lia replied, nodding respectfully but bristling at the Aldermaston’s tone.

“How old are you?” he demanded.

“I am nearly sixteen.”

“Sixteen? And you passed the maston test, did you? What is your Family name? Would I know it?” He raised the goblet and took another sip of the drink, which smelled strongly of apples. It was probably cider.

“I do not think so,” Lia replied, hedging. “I am on a journey to Doviur.”

“I know most of the Families in your Hundred. Even the minor ones, like the Fesits. I would have heard if any passed the maston test so young. Who is your Family?”

Lia clenched her fists, trying to calm her anger. “I must be leaving. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“You will not tell me. I command you to speak. This is my domain, my hospitality.” He paused, looking at her again, more closely. “You have no Family, do you? I can see it in your bearing, your countenance. You must be a wretched.” He looked genuinely startled. “He elevated a wretched?” he murmured to himself. “Is that the new fad in Muirwood these days? Anyone who can kindle a
gargouelle
spark can take the test? I should have known. Cunning old fool.”

If Lia’s temper was not already smoldering, it suddenly blazed white hot. She said nothing, for any words out of her mouth would have been insulting.

The Aldermaston took another drink, regarding her closely. “So why are you bound for Doviur, my dear? Did Gideon Penman suspect that I would fail to warn the port cities about his imagined dangers? That I would not see through his ploy to legitimate Demont as usurper and king? Flee to Muirwood, there is danger! Leave your homes or you will all be destroyed! Bah! Does he truly think I am that naïve?”

A cold feeling ran down Lia’s back. “You have not warned them?” she asked, aghast.

“Warn them of what? You are a wretched, so what can you possibly know about the ways of the world.” He turned away from her, cradling his goblet, then turned on her fiercely, his dark eyes smoldering with anger. “Let me educate you, child. Your Aldermaston conspired to murder the king. An anointed king! Why? Because the king had threatened to revoke his tax immunity. The king’s tax can only be collected in the jurisdiction of the king’s sheriffs. Poor Almaguer was murdered too. Child, do you not understand that Muirwood is the richest Abbey in the realm? Did you not know that this cider, this
Muirwood
cider that everyone craves, has tripled in price over the last three years? I am sure his coffers are fit to burst with the wealth he has earned from the cider trade. Enough wealth to lure Demont back from overseas and pay for his army of pretended mastons.” He reached out and handled the smoke-stained fabric of her cloak. “One would
think
he could afford to attire his wretcheds more appropriately.”

Lia grit her teeth, furious at the accusations. “I can assure you that the Aldermaston of Muirwood is not as wealthy as you presume. The Blight is real. Manifestations of it are ravaging the woods in our Hundred. Have you not heard of Sempringfall Abbey? It was burned.”

The man snorted. “It is a lie. It is a story you have been told because you trust an old man who cannot stand to lose his power and influence. Word of the king’s murder has reached our ears. I have it on good authority that the High Seer of Avinion has sent instructions for him to be arrested and brought to trial here, at Augustin. The wild tale of a great Blight coming is just a distraction. Every time the earth shudders, or a storm ravages a crop, or a new pestilence kills the grain, there is a quick opinion that we are being wicked and that it is the Blight. The Medium would not destroy the inhabitants of seven kingdoms. It is blasphemy even to suggest it.”

Lia shook her head. “You
must
warn the people. Even if you do not believe it is real, it is your duty to warn them. You are an Aldermaston…”

“I know very well who I am, child.” He gave her a look of condescending smugness. “Gideon will not be the Aldermaston of Muirwood for much longer. When the High Seer’s missive arrives, I will be taking it personally to deliver. I have it on good authority, you understand, that the post will be given to me.” There was something in his eyes, a look of glee that was nearly incoherent. He raised the goblet to his mouth and frowned to learn it was empty. He thrust it angrily into the older maston’s hand with a nod to go fill it again.

He looked at her and his voice was a little slurred as he spoke. “You are sixteen, you say? What position do you serve? I see a weapon – a girl with a weapon. Is that a bow on your shoulder? It is. You are a hunter then?”

Lia nodded, clenching her teeth.

“I should like to see how well you hunt. In the morning, you will bring me a pheasant for my afternoon meal. Or a pig. You are no doubt used to hunting the pig that root amidst the oaks of Muirwood. I hear they are especially delicious. Pig and cider.”

“I have duties to perform in Doviur. I beg you excuse me.”

The Aldermaston leveled his eyes at her. “Even were I to let you go and you managed to return to warn Gideon in time, do you think it would really matter? Muirwood will be mine at last. The most ancient Abbey in the realm will finally become the grandest. When I become its Aldermaston, there will be no more profits spent on Demont and his pitiful army. Then perhaps he will finally be persuaded to end this fruitless contest for power.” He put his hand on her shoulder, his thick heavy hand. “A pheasant. Or a pig. You may hunt on my grounds, but you cannot leave them. I forbid it. You serve
me
now, child.”

Lia stared in his eyes, saw the intensity there – the deliberateness. How many other knight-mastons had he waylaid?

She reached up and put her thumb on the back of his hand and her fingers around the edge of his palm. With a quick twist and jerk, she yanked his arm around and brought him to his knees with a howl of pain. She bent the wrist backwards, driving him into the tile. She flexed the wrist harder, making him yelp.

“I serve the Aldermaston of Muirwood,” she said tightly. “If any of your people try and stop me, I pity them.”

“I am an Aldermaston!” he quailed, his voice throbbing with pain. “I will invoke the Medium to destroy you!”

There was nothing in the air, not even the faint murmur of the wind.

“By all means try,” she replied, waiting a moment for anything to happen. When nothing did, she shoved him away from her. The older maston was returning with a fresh cup of cider, his eyes popping in shock to see his master handled thus. But he did not approach her.

Lia turned and walked back out the door, flinging it open as she walked. The Aldermaston let out a rush of commands.

“Give me that! You fool! Summon my guards! Do not let her escape. The Earl of Dieyre said he would pay handsomely for her. Get her! Get her!”

Lia ran down the huge corridor, her heart pounding, her stomach thrilling. She reached the doors and yanked them open as the sound of clattering steps echoed throughout the vast maze. The door servants were there, holding the black polished staves. They turned and crossed them, barring her way.

She stomped on one’s foot and wrenched the staff out of his hands and dropped him with a single blow. The other man looked stunned as she whirled the staff around. He deflected it but she switched ends and jabbed the rounded end into his throat. He clutched his neck, dropping his staff with a loud clattering noise and Lia braced herself on the steps. She saw the wretcheds gathering around, the gardeners with spades and pruners with shears, others with brooms and rakes and young girls with polishing rags and tubs of wax. She understood it now – that the Aldermaston of Augustin did not want to see his wretcheds working, so he made them work at night. They labored and toiled so that during the daylight, he would not be bothered with looking at them. Reaching into the pouch at her waist, she withdrew the Cruciger orb and summoned its blinding light. It enveloped her like a blazing sun.

“The Blight is truly coming!” she shouted. “It strikes by Twelfth Night! Flee to Muirwood for safety. Flee this place before it comes!”

In her mind, she willed the orb to work, to guide her to a safe road where she could escape into the woods. That was her domain, her place of strength where her skills would outmatch any of theirs. The light of it was dazzling, so bright it made her wince. The spindles spun and then pointed a clear path towards a giant hedge maze.

The smells and sounds of the woods were comforting, familiar, and haunting with memories. The scent of pine was strong in the air and Lia’s rushed pace prevented her from being cold. She walked with her hood down, listening for any sound that would betray an enemy. She had walked for a league at least and her feet were tired and sore, but she had endured worst before and knew her strength would last. She had to reach the port of Doviur by morning, and she decided to walk until she could smell the salty air before stopping and resting. The orb guided her, pointing the way through the tangle of trees, stumps, and fallen trunks.

A memory from the Bearden Muir flitted through her mind as she traversed the woods. She remembered the feeling of her filthy dress clinging to her skin, the grit buried underneath each fingernail, her hair a tangled mess. Those were details, but the bud of the memory was Colvin first teaching her how the Medium worked. It was the revelation that all actions in the world originated from the seeds of thought, deliberately sown and nurtured, and then the Medium maneuvered events to bring them to pass. His desire to join Garen Demont’s forces at Winterrowd had brought him Muirwood Abbey and laid him in the care of Lia as a wounded stranger. She recognized, a bit ironically, that his desire to find Ellowyn Demont had unwittingly been fulfilled as well.

It was her turn now to focus her thoughts on reaching him. The desire to find a ship to Dahomey consumed her. She had to hurry for something was going to happen if she did not. The Blight would start at Dochte Abbey and more than anything else, she wanted to protect him from it. She worried about him, so far away. What was he doing at that moment? Asleep and dreaming? What were his dreams? Was he awake at that moment, staring out some window at a night sky, sharing the scene of the moon high above that painted everything silver? Or was he in a dungeon as Marciana suggested, cold and miserable and terrified of the dark confined space.

Meeting the Aldermaston of Augustin had shoved her inside a new cauldron of worries. She could still see the naked ambition in his eyes, his craving to inherit Muirwood. So much of what he had said was utter nonsense. She had worked closely with the Aldermaston and had never seen even the remotest shadow of opulence that she had witnessed in Augustin. Instinctively, she realized the Queen Dowager’s hand. Augustin was subverted by the hetaera. Some of his words had brought thoughts to her mind, memories of the past. She recalled the sheriff, Almaguer, and his threats to destroy the Aldermaston. It was as if he had known that a change in leadership would happen and was looking forward to it. She shuddered to think of what life at Muirwood would have become under the direction of someone like the Aldermaston of Augustin. Had he not said that the price of cider had tripled in three years? Another memory nagged at her – it was the Queen Dowager’s age. She had been fifteen when she married the old king and come from Dahomey. Three years ago. The webs of spider thread were nearly invisible, but Lia could make them out. Subtle – calculating – coldblooded. She had not succeeded at first in toppling the most ancient Abbey in the realm. But Lia could tell clearly it was her aim.