The Blight of Muirwood (42 page)

“A grey-rank,” he answered. “It cannot hurt us.”

Lia swallowed, her throat tightening. “But it will hurt them.”

“Keep walking,” Colvin ordered, pulling Ellowyn with him. Lia froze. “What can we do?” he demanded. “If we help them, will they help us? If the Aldermaston told them we were bound for Dahomey ultimately, why would they have followed us so swiftly if not to stop us? If they are wise, they will go back down the mountain to the safety of their Abbey. They cannot pass.”

Lia struggled with her feelings. They were her countrymen. She did not want anything to happen to them. Even Martin, who had betrayed her. She could not explain her feelings. They surged in her so strongly, she hestitated, not knowing what to do.

“Come, Lia,” Colvin said, pressing forward in a hard walk. “There is nothing you can do.”

They heard the screams.

Lia choked with the sound. The cry of pain, warning. Panic. Another roar sounded, blasting from the slope further down. A trumpet of rage and anger. More screams. Horror-filled screams. Tears burst from Lia’s eyes.

Colvin grabbed her shoulder and pulled her close to him. He squeezed her as the sounds of the night intensified, as a cry of agony was suddenly ripped short. He buried her head against his chest, covering her ears from the sound – a sound of slaughter. A sound that would haunt her the rest of her life.

He squeezed her hard and she clutched at him, weeping. His expression showed his disgust with what they had heard. The Fear Liath was master of the mountain. Silence followed. A croon of delight sounded from the stillness. It was long and loud and throbbed with triumph.

“Come,” Colvin whispered in her ear. “There is nothing we could have done. Those hunters chose to follow us. They chose to pursue. It sickens me what happened to them. Come, we must get off the mountain.”

There was no use hiding the trail now. Onward they walked, pressing up the steep slope of the mountain. Tears fell down Lia’s cheeks. She looked back, searching for the glow of a torch. Even a single torch. The fog had lifted, revealing a snowy moon once again. But there were no pinpricks of light following. Nothing but blackness behind them and the silhouettes of massive trees all around. How old were the trees, she wondered. How many deaths had they silently witnessed over the long years atop the mountain? A place where no woodcutter dared harvest. A place where the things of the wild reigned as kings.

First Jon Hunter.

Now Martin.

She wished there was a way to leave a Leering there, as she had with Jon. But she knew nothing about it, nor did she trust their safety where the Fear Liath made its home. She wept as they walked through the treacherous woods.

* * *

They straggled into the hamlet of Enarth just after mid-day. Ellowyn’s face was smudged with dirt and tear-tracks. She wobbled on her feet, barely able to keep upright through her exhaustion. Her hair was matted with twigs, her fine gown in tatters at the hem. Lia’s feet were throbbing, her legs sore but she did not stop. Colvin seemed unaffected, his jaw firm with determination. He did not speak as they entered the hamlet. Lia peeked at the orb which pointed the way to Pen-Ilyn and his boat. He was pacing back and forth by the small dock, rubbing his hands together. A stack of goods were already loaded and he turned on his heel and started with surprise when they appeared.

“What is this?” he said, a smile brightening his face. “You did it? Well, I ought not to be so amazed, but here you are before me. Hello, lass. We meet again.” He walked up to them, his eyes wide with excitement. “You have been in the back woods, then? Have you had any news in your travels? Do you know what happened?”

Lia was not sure whether he meant the Blight or not. “What have you heard?”

“Word from Caerdeth,” he said, waving them towards the boat. “You remember, it is the trading town further north. Word arrived for the castellan. Well, secrets do not keep for long. Especially when he raised the drawbridge. Someone smuggled the word out though, and now everyone is talking of little else.”

“What is it?” Lia pressed.

“Word came that Demont’s army has fallen. It was led into a trap by one of the earls and there was a battle. Not a survivor. They were all killed. Every last maston.”

Colvin grabbed his arm. “When did this news come?”

“Yesterday,” the boatman replied. “That was when the castellan raised the drawbridge. He is expecting a revolt, no doubt. With turmoil on the other side of the sea, he may as well expect a siege on this side. He will not be the castellan long, I fear. One of our archers will make a target of him. I will ferry you across now, but I will be coming back tonight. I have sent my family to stay with my mother until I return. I only stayed because I promised you I would. But I will not risk my hide living in Comoros now.”

Colvin’s eyes burned with anger. So many complex emotions played across his face. She understood too well some of what he was feeling. With Demont dead, everything had changed. A man he had admired and respected was gone. Also lost was his position on the Privy Council. Ellowyn’s surviving relation was dead. She was the last Demont now. And the ones who had wanted him dead would want her life as well.

“Uncle…?” Ellowyn started to ask, but Colvin shook his head at her forcefully to silence her. Why reveal too much to the boatman?

“Come now,” Pen-Ilyn said, walking towards the boat. “There is only some little sunlight left in the day, and I will be rowing hard. I know the tidings are bad. Just be grateful you were not there when all the mastons fell. I am sure it was a butchery like at Maseve. It is a dark day when mastons die.”

Ellowyn gasped, the information finally seeming to sink in.

Exhausted, they followed Pen-Ilyn into the craft, catching his hand for balance as they boarded. Not only was the boat rocking treacherously. It seemed everything else in her life was bobbing too.

* * *

“To the person who does not know where he wants to go there is no favorable wind.”

- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey

* * *

The three were exhausted from their flight over the mountains of Pry-Ree and slept in the boat as Pen-Ilyn braced himself against the oars and rowed. He wanted to return before dark, so he put his muscles to the labor and the boat sliced through the choppy waters. Lia wavered in and out of sleep, lulled by the motion. No sooner had she drifted off when the boatman’s voice rose over the din.

“The shore. We moved faster than I thought, though the wind was behind us. It has been a lonely trip with the three of you snoring. But I have done my duty. I am sure you are weary from your journey.”

Lia blinked awake and sat up. Rubbing her eyes, she gazed at the bend of land looming in the distance. The thatched dwelling was there somewhere, but she could not see it through the screen of trees. The little dock was a spur against the gray waters. It was empty of craft or person.

She stared at the dock, her mind in a fog of weariness and lack of sleep. Should not Edmon be there? And horses left to escort them?

Lia turned to Colvin, who was brooding, gazing at the shoreline. “I do not see anyone waiting for us. Do you?”

He shook his head. “That concerns me.”

“Bridgestow is not far away,” Lia murmured. “He could have easily gone and returned with horses. If news of Demont’s defeat reached Caerneth, it should have reached Bridgestow first. That town was loyal.”

Colvin looked back at her, his eyes narrow and distrustful. “What if he never made it there?”

A stab of worry bloomed in her stomach. It made her sick inside. “Dieyre?”

“What did he want more than anything else?” Colvin said in a low voice. “He already knew Demont was going to fall. He already knew the powers within the kingdom would shift. He knew it was happening all along. Even if he had convinced us to join his side, it was already too late.”

Lia’s hands trembled as she reached into her pouch and withdrew the Cruciger orb.
Where is Edmon
? she thought.
Is he alive?
The spindles spun and then pointed the direction of Muirwood.
Where is Marciana?
she queried next. The spindles pointed a different way - to the east. Away from Muirwood. Away from Bridgestow. Her hope crumpled. She had one last question for it.
Where is Dieyre?

The spindles straightened, pointing directly in the path they were going.

Colvin studied her face, saw the flush in her cheeks.

“We are sailing into a trap,” Lia whispered. “Dieyre awaits us.”

The woods looked empty, but she knew it was a deception. Once they left the boat, the trap would spring.

Colvin turned back to Pen-Ilyn. “We cannot go this way. Follow the current, but keep clear of the shore.”

He looked at them, confused. “What are you saying? We are almost there.”

“We will die if you leave us there. Follow the water, along the shore.”

“But…”

“Just do it!” Colvin snapped at him. He pointed. “That way!”

Pen-Ilyn frowned and gritted his teeth, pulling even harder on the oars. He had not changed direction. The dock was getting closer.

“What are you doing?” Lia demanded. “Pen-Ilyn?” She saw the determination in his face.

His voice was dark. “You paid me a great deal to wait for you and row you back. But he will pay even more to bring you back to him. What happens to you then is not my concern.” His eyes leveled at Colvin. “If you think you can knock me down, you might be mistaken. If you stand, I will jerk the boat and you will end up in the water. Believe me, you will. I know you are a maston too and it is against your kind to murder. He did not want you dead only captured. Ah, I see them now.”

Lia looked back at the shoreline and saw the horses emerging from the trees. They came as a wall, at least fifty mounted knights lining the shore. It was easy to spot Dieyre, so loose and confident in the saddle. The men bore the standards of the Queen Dowager.

“Please,” Lia said, crossing one of the benches to get closer to Pen-Ilyn. “You do not understand what is happening. You do not know who we are.”

“I do not have to know,” he said back simply. “Simply put, I would rather not. Come no closer, lass. If you reach for your blade, I will jerk the boat. Then you will be swimming.”

Lia clenched her teeth. “If he betrayed us, he will betray you as well. He promised you a reward, but did he pay it? Did he trust you enough? Please, Pen-Ilyn. I am Pry-rian, as you are. So is she. You cannot betray your own blood.”

He snorted, but he did not stop pulling the oars. “I am not an honest man. I help people avoid the taxes. I will ask for my coin before we berth. But if your knight tries to stop me, I will swear you will…”

Lia lunged, smashing the heel of her palm into his nose. Blood spurted as he flailed backwards. He choked and moaned and she jammed her elbow into his gut and wrenched the oars away from him. Colvin was stumbling past Ellowyn to help and she thrust the oars at him.

Pen-Ilyn wailed with pain, unable to speak through the blood. He tried to sit up, but Lia shoved him down again. “If you try anything else, it will be you with the fishes,” she threatened. “Then you can swim back to Pry-Ree. Row westward, Colvin. Keep going west. They will follow us along the coast, but once we reach the Bearden Muir, their horses will be a disadvantage to them and the boat a help to us. There are waterways that criss-cross the swamp.”

The look adoration and gratitude Colvin gave her nearly made her blush. She reached for her bow and pulled in an arrow from her quiver. She stood up to her full height on the swooning boat and looked at the Earl of Dieyre who watched them intently. Raising the bowstock, she let the arrow fly at him.

It stuck in the earth right in front of him. A warning. As Colvin pulled on the oars and shifted the direction of the boat westward, she remained standing, the bow held in defiance. Dieyre did not move. He only watched. But she knew he would hunt them.

* * *

Lia knew all the rivers within the Bearden Muir. The first one was called the Comb and they passed it, knowing it would be the first boundary that would seriously challenge Dieyre’s men. The second was called the Brent and it was wide and shallow. During the winter, it flooded the lowlands the most, creating little islands that could only be connected by rafts or on horseback. She wanted something wide, something that would make it easier to move quickly. However, its greatest benefit was that it connected to the Belgeneck, the largest river in the Hundred – the one that formed one of the borders to Muirwood. If they could pass the Comb and make it to the Belgeneck, there would be no way that Dieyre could reach them fast enough. Their horses would need rest. A boat did not.

Pen-Ilyn pressed a blood-soaked rag to his nose. “Why did you hit me so hard?” he complained to Lia.

She ignored him.

“It is broken, to be sure. I need a healer.”

“You did not leave me with many choices,” Lia pointed out. She raised her arm. “That way, Colvin. There is the Brent. We made it before dark.” She consulted the orb, asking for the direction of where Dieyre and his men were. They were farther behind.