The Banished of Muirwood (7 page)

Most of the towns and cities in her kingdom were built on flat ground and overlooked beautiful lands. This was rocky country, thick with dense woods and jagged boulders. There was a luxurious manor house on the top of the craggy mountain and she could only imagine how exquisite the view must be. The town was built lower down the mountain face, a series of tall but narrow buildings with highly slanted roof lines that were connected together, though they came in a variety of sizes and shapes. Lower down, along the flatter lands, was another series of buildings. If Maia had to guess, she thought perhaps several hundred people lived in the town, which Jon Tayt had dubbed Roc-Adamour, or in her language, the Rock of the First Fathers. It was an ancient town by the look of it, but the ruins and rubble were at the fringe of the town and the core of interior buildings was new and maintained.

There were no walls to fortify the town, but the terrain provided a natural barrier to conflict. Lanterns and torches were already starting to be lit around the settlement, giving it a peaceful air. None of the lights from the manor house at the top of the crest had been lit. It seemed abandoned.

“Your friends will have trouble finding us here,” Jon Tayt said with a broad grin. “There are many inns and travelers here since this is a major crossroads in the Hundred. More than one road comes in and out, so finding our trail will be tedious. It will buy us time. The big house on the top is one of the king’s manors. That is where the Dochte Mandar will likely go to solicit help. The other places midway up the cliff,” he said, pointing, “those are for the rich traders. We will not be staying there. And over there is a little haunt I know near the edge of the cliffs, hunkered deep down by the woods. Easy to hide, easy to flee. Not many know of it. The people here keep to themselves. Follow me.”

Maia craned her neck as they entered the town. The streets were crowded, which brought a sensation of safety she had not experienced for some time. She had worried her accent would betray her if she needed to speak Dahomeyjan in their journey. Traveling with Jon Tayt would lessen the chance of discovery because he was likely known by reputation, which would save them from asking questions of strangers who would remember them. She was grateful to have his help and determined to reward him handsomely in some way.

The kishion did not gawk at the tall, slender structures as she did, and he kept an impassive look on his face as they slipped into the shadows of early nightfall. “Raise your hood,” he ordered sharply.

She was tempted to defy him, but she obeyed.

They walked down the main street, ignoring the shopkeepers and traders for the most part, though Jon Tayt did purchase several meat pies to stave off their hunger as they crossed the majority of the town. They finally stopped at a small two-story dwelling, also with a pitched slate roof of heavy stone shingles. It had two wings, and its walls were coated in ivy.

Jon Tayt entered first, stomping his boots on the rush matting as he entered, and the smell of wine and roasting meat made her mouth water instantly. There was a main hearth, full of lively flames, and the room bustled with patrons who joked and bantered with each other, adding to the lively setting. Stag antlers and even a huge bust of a moose hung from the walls. The main room was narrow but deep, and it appeared as though all the rooms were up the narrow stairs that flanked each wall.

Maia was startled by the commotion, but it felt pleasant to be around people again, all of them chattering away in another language that was lilting and beautiful to her ears. She could understand what they were saying, felt confident that she could mimic the cadence of their speech if need be. Jon Tayt scouted for an empty table, but without much luck. Argus’s tail wagged vigorously, and he snouted along the ground for fallen bits of food.

The heat from the fires was starting to suffocate Maia, and she edged her cowl back from her face a bit, feeling the warmth and light play on her skin. She was bone weary from the hard journey that day, but she wanted to enjoy and savor the commotion and companionship, even if she did not wish to be noticed.

Her eyes gazed around the room, taking in the details, and she felt a small smile threaten her. She indulged in it for just a moment. On each table were little vats of melted cheese, and patrons were dipping hunks of bread into it on small skewers. The smell of the melting cheese was enthralling.

As she looked from table to table, she noticed one man was sitting alone, his leg propped on another chair in a lanky pose, swirling a goblet near his chin as he watched the patrons of the inn—exactly what she was doing. He was tall and broad with dark hair that went down to his shoulders. When she saw him, her heart took a shiver and a jolt, for he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. It was a dangerous kind of handsome, and he had the smug look of self-assurance that said he knew exactly how others regarded him.

His gaze met hers, and the swirling cup stopped. The goblet came down on the table with a thud. A bright smile stretched across his face, a look of delight that sent shivers down to Maia’s blistered feet.

“Tayt!” the man shouted across the room, his voice surpassing the drone of everyone else.

Jon Tayt whirled at the salute, his eyes narrowing when he saw the man seated at the table by himself. “Ach,” the hunter muttered under his breath. “It had to be him. By Cheshu, why
tonight
?” he murmured with a groan.

“Who is that?” Maia asked cautiously as the man sat upright, waving his arm vigorously for them to join him. Her heart skittered with dread.

“He’s the king’s collier,” Jon Tayt said, defeated. “Not a word. He cannot be trusted.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Roc-Adamour

M
aia had a penchant for being disappointed by handsome men. She was not one who instinctively trusted those who could win someone’s favor with a charming smile or gallant behavior. Those traits, life had taught her, were often wrapped up in shallow-mindedness and the spoiled stubbornness of people who were used to getting their way. Things often came too easily for men and women like that, perhaps because others deferred to beauty too readily. Though it pained her to admit it, her own father had always allowed beauty to get the better of him.

They approached the man at the table, except for the kishion, who had melted into the crowd without a word. Just she, Argus, and Jon Tayt made their approach, and Maia moved forward warily.

The man scooted his goblet away and scrutinized them. He gave Maia a cursory look, his eyebrows wrinkling slightly as he took in her disheveled appearance, but he greeted the hunter with enthusiasm.

“At the end of another mountain expedition by the looks of you,” he drawled, slapping the tabletop good-naturedly. “How many in the party died this time?”

“Only three or four,” the hunter said blandly. “A boring trip.”

The man reached out to Argus, but the boarhound growled menacingly, and he withdrew his intent. He stood and bowed with a flourish to Maia. “Feint Collier, at your service.”

“
Faint
?” Maia asked with surprise.

Jon Tayt let out a short, wicked laugh. “A common mistake, lass. The king’s collier fancies himself to be a swordsman. When you trick your opponent by pretending to strike in one place before quickly switching to another, it is called a
feint
. As you may guess, he has a reputation for such trickery.”

The man took the teasing good-naturedly. He indeed wore a blade at his hip, inside a rather battered scabbard. His vest tunic was dusty and frayed, though it was made of supple leather. His shirt was open at the collar. Now that she saw him more closely, she realized he was young—probably around her age.

“I have, it is true, a reputation with a double meaning,” he said, smiling at Maia with a look of mild annoyance. “
Feint
Collier, if you please. Tayt calls me Collier, and I call him Tayt. I discovered this little inn through my association with him, my lady. He is an expert in all things culinary, as you can tell plainly from the length of his belt.”

“It is unfair to tease a man about his appetite,” Jon Tayt said waspishly.

“As fair as it is to tease a man about his swordsmanship?” Collier
answered, quick as a whip.
Both men chuckled. “By Cheshu,” he continued with a mocking lilt in his voice, “but you both look hungry. Share my table.
There is room for all, even your skulking friend over there. I was bou
nd for Argus tomorrow anyway to find you, Tayt, so I thank you for sparing me the journey.”

“I never refuse to eat at another man’s expense,” Jon Tayt said and sat down at the table. Argus curled up beneath his chair, wary.

After Maia had seated herself, Collier followed her example and then leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “Tayt knows everything about everything. I am sure you have realized this already. The best way to care for a horse. The best way to sharpen an axe. How to construct a sturdy building. How to find water where there is none. No man in Dahomey is as prolific in his knowledge of useless things as our friend here.”

“Useless?” the hunter said with a chuckle. “I found the Torvian Gap and saved you thirty leagues of riding. How is that useless?”

“The worst part about him,” Collier continued to Maia, ignoring the comment, “is that he cannot hold his tongue. He talks all day long and snores and babbles all night. Even in his sleep he longs to talk. But I do not need to tell that to you. You have clearly endured hardships while roaming the mountains with him, so you must have learned these things for yourself.”

Maia did not like being the focus of attention. This man was clearly trying to engage her in conversation, and it made her uncomfortable. But she knew she would need to speak eventually.

“You are the king’s collier,” Maia said, trying to keep her Dahomeyjan plain. “What is that?”

“He shovels the king’s stables,” Tayt said wryly. “Not even the king’s horses smell like daisies.”

“You are insufferable,” Collier said to Jon Tayt, shaking his head, his brow wrinkling. It smoothed as soon as he shifted his gaze to Maia, regarding her with interest. “My lady, a collier is Master of Horses—the king’s, in my case.”

“And is the
Mark
here?” Tayt asked dryly.

“You keep calling him that and he will have your head,” Collier said with annoyance. “My master is encamped with the army thirty leagues away.” He saw the look of confusion on Maia’s face and explained. “Tayt calls the King of Dahomey the
Mark
because he’s rather fond of coins and luxuries—”

“And women,” the hunter interrupted.

Collier waved him down. “Yes, he does have a reputation for that as well. He once promised to pay Tayt a thousand marks to become his hunter, and Tayt refused. He is totally daft, as you already know. Stubborn as an unripe walnut.”

“Ah, but you cannot
purchase
loyalty,” the hunter said, winning Maia’s respect even more.

Collier waved over a servant, who arrived moments later with a large platter filled, puzzlingly enough, with raw meat and loaves of bread. Once the servant had left the platter on the table, Collier continued. “I am known as the king’s collier because when I was a boy, I shoveled his stables. I learned everything I could about horses and keeping them, in order to be useful. I am entrusted on many errands throughout the realm, which suits my personality, for I truly loathe being in one place for very long. Life in the saddle suits my personality.”

“And with the Mark riding hither and yon with his army all the time,” Jon Tayt said, “he sends Collier to deliver messages and prepare others for his arrival as he goes this way and that. He knows the roads of the kingdom almost as well as I do. The mountain passes . . . passably well. Did you like the play on words?” He chuckled to himself. “He can unshoe or shoe a hoof as well as any blacksmith . . . but not as well as me.”

“Of course, there is only one
proper
way to shoe a horse!” He rolled his eyes and belted out a laugh.

“One more thing you should know about him,” Jon Tayt said. “He is also called
Collier
because he is a wretched, and they take on the name of their profession. The old king of Dahomey had quite a brood of children. Most of them born on the right side of the sheets. Save one. Which abbey were you abandoned at?”

That news startled Maia, and she saw the crack in Collier’s mask of frivolity. A darkness seemed to shadow the man’s face. He was staring at her again, his bright blue eyes slightly narrowed, but after a moment of silence, he smiled self-deprecatingly and shrugged. “Lisyeux Abbey. We cannot any of us choose our station in life,” he said. “We only choose what we make of it. I have a good life. I do what I most enjoy. And for the most part, I am unmolested as I ride dangerous roads because thieves and villains think twice when they see me coming. They know I do not fight fair.” His expression turned more thoughtful. He lightly jabbed a finger at her. “I will not hesitate to stab out an eye or cut off a hand when it suits me. Enough about
my
name and who I am. Who are you, my lady? What Hundred do you hail from?”

Maia was not sure what she wanted to say, but she was certain she could not reveal her true identity to him. She was rocked by the strange contradictions in his life and his demeanor. He was handsome, to be sure, but his agreeableness was clearly not born of rank or station.

“I will also add,” Jon Tayt said, interrupting again, “that Collier is a notorious flirt, so do not answer any of his questions. He is a rogue himself, despite his talk of bandits and thieves. Leave the talking to me.”

“When can we
not
leave the talking to you?”

“You have done very well for yourself, Collier. Push the tray nearer and I may be more quiet.”

“Wait for the broth and cheese, Tayt.”

“I am happy eating raw meat right now. But here they come with it.” Several of the serving girls arrived, carrying pots and iron stands and small oil lamps. The lamps were positioned beneath the pots in the iron stands so their flames would heat the bottoms. Maia had never seen such a setup before and she watched curiously as the cheese and broth began to seethe again.

Tayt skewered several pieces of meat with thin forks and then dipped them into the pot. He asked the serving girl for a tray of vegetables and pulled out the skewers a moment later. The meat had been cooked in the broth, and Jon Tayt offered a steaming portion of it to her. He himself used the skewers to eat, pulling a strand of meat off with his teeth.

“This little place has the best broth and cheese,” Tayt said to Maia. “The recipe is Pry-rian. I taught it to them.”

“Naturally,
you
taught it to them,” Collier said with an exasperated look.

“The quality of an inn is not determined by how many fleas infest the pallets. It is judged by the food.” Tayt grabbed a hunk of bread from the table and dunked it deep into the bubbling cheese.

“Your friend will not join us?” Collier asked in a low voice.

Tayt glanced over his shoulder, and they both saw the kishion standing at the counter with a cup of ale or some other drink, sipping it slowly.

“He is the sullen type and does not enjoy jovial company. Never disturb a man in his humors. Try the cheese,” he offered to Maia, ripping off another hunk of bread and dipping it into the molten cheese. It was pale yellow with a brownish powder floating on the top. Maia mimicked his action and dipped some bread in. It was hot enough to burn her tongue, but the flavors made her start with surprise. It was delicious! She was uncomfortable eating with the stranger, who seemed to be watching her very closely.

“Ah, she likes it,” Collier said with a grin. “Are you as quiet as your friend at the counter, my lady? What is your—”

“You said the Mark’s army is thirty leagues away,” Tayt interrupted. A flash of anger came in Collier’s eyes. “Is he bound for Roc-Adamour? I noticed the manor house looked dark as we arrived.”

Maia was grateful for Jon Tayt foiling the man’s attempts to draw her into conversation. She felt assured enough to speak to him without giving away too much, but the less he learned about her, the better.

Collier pursed his lips and shook his head. “No. He is not coming here. As I said, I was planning to ride to Argus to see you. You said you would not work for the Mark even if he paid you ten thousand. What about twenty-five?”

“Twenty-five marks?” Tayt asked incredulously.

“Twenty-five
thousand
,” Collier said. “You could almost buy your own Hundred for that. Perhaps you want a title to go with it? The king’s sheriff?”

The hunter dabbed the bread with cheese and stuffed the piece in his mouth. He brushed his hands together and wiped crumbs from his tangled beard. “The more he offers me, the less I trust him. I am not
worth
even five hundred marks. No.”

Collier nodded in satisfaction. “I told him as much.” He turned to Maia again, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “If I ask you about the weather in the mountains, are you permitted to speak? Or will Tayt interrupt me again?”

“It was quite windy,” Maia replied, a small smile dimpling her mouth. Despite herself, she was a little flattered by the persistence of his attentions. But she was equally resolved to limit her interactions with him.

“She speaks!” Collier said with a laugh, clapping his hands.

“I will not serve that man,” Tayt said, lifting another skewer from the pot of seething broth. He mumbled with delight as the hot meat burned his tongue; he was clearly savoring it. “Tell him no amount of coin will seduce me.”

“He is quite determined to remain poor,” Collier said to Maia. “Yet I respect him for it. You cannot buy integrity, as the mastons say. No man can hold his virtue too dear, for it is the only thing whose value will ever increase with its cost. Our integrity is never worth so much as when we have parted with our all to keep it.” He grinned. “I memorized that one, though I am not a maston myself.”

Maia nodded, studying his face, saying nothing. She noticed a little scar on his left cheek, just under his eye, that could only be seen up close. His eyes were so blue, it was like looking into the sky. She squelched the curious feelings this observation aroused, knowing they would soon be on their way and she would never meet this man again. Feint Collier, a wretched of Dahomey. It was a rare thing to abandon a child in her kingdom. If a child were abandoned at an abbey in Comoros, there were any number of families who would step forward and quickly claim it. Her heart went out to him, but she could not allow herself to care. Not when a loose word from her or Jon Tayt could reach the King of Dahomey so quickly.