The Wretched of Muirwood (32 page)

She wanted him to throw his arms around her and hug her, but he did not. She smiled to hide her pang of disappointment. “Must I now call you Sir Colvin? And curtsy when I see you?”

His smile did not dim. “No, Lia. Never. The Medium spared my life because of you. My doubts would have killed me. They should have killed me. But whenever I feared, I thought on you.” He looked around, as if realizing they were standing in the middle of death itself. “Come – this is no place for you. Walk with me back to my tent and hide that orb. Come, take my arm. Cover your head with the cowl and try not to look. It is a grisly scene.”

He led her back through the failing mists, talking briskly as he marched. “I felt your warning last night about the imposters coming around the rear. I warned Demont that I had a feeling we would be ambushed from behind. It was a stroke of good favor at that dark hour. When the riders appeared, there were only a few and they came claiming to join our force. I think they were there to stab Demont. One offered to show him his hand, which is a ritual mastons do to prove one another, but Demont asked to see his chaen shirt instead. The man balked, for he was wearing a medallion and his skin was tainted by its brand. When they saw they could not deceive us, they tried to fight their way clear, but we easily mastered them and learned of others in the woods and captured them as well.”

Colvin led her through the muddy field and towards the canopy of pavilions she had watched the night before. It was the king’s pavilions, with pennants and poles and the battle flags of fallen foes assembled together.

“Demont knew our trouble, that if we were attacked on all sides while facing the king’s army, he knew we would be overrun. In that hour, he remembered a tactic he had learned from his father. A tactic he had discussed at the battle of Maseve, but did not feel confident enough to try. Demont believed that his father had failed that day because he did not trust the inspiration from the Medium. The tactic is called a
shiltron square
– you use pikes and spears in a tight box. That way, you can repel the attack from any side. It is brilliant but requires great courage. Standing fast when knights are charging you with lances is not easy. It helped offset their numbers and withstand their first charge without breaking.”

He guided her around the twisted remains of a soldier with a death-grimace. “The Medium wanted us to prevail. That became clear during the fight. Lia – none of them could touch me. I felt the Medium coursing through me like fire. It gave me strength to do things I had never dreamed of. It protected me from harm.”

It protected all of you
, Lia thought. She wanted to tell him what Maderos had told her. But his words of warning kept her silent.

They reached the curtain of pavilions and Colvin led her to one of the smaller ones, a rich blue color with gray trappings, richly furnished inside with rugs, a table, candles, and a pallet to sleep on, cloaked with fur-lined blankets. The smell of tallow overwhelmed the stench of the field beyond.

“You must be tired, Lia. There – rest on my pallet. There is food on the table and drink. I will send a horseman to Muirwood to tell the Aldermaston you are safe. If he will not take you back, then I will make sure you are cared for, even if I must take you on in my own household.” He stood by the opening, staring at her pointedly. “And you
will
read, Lia. Even if I must teach you myself. Get some rest. There is much to be done today.”

“Send a horseman to Billerbeck Abbey as well,” Lia told him. “Tell your sister you are safe as well. Tell her what you could not tell her before.”

His eager smile lost none of its radiance. “I will. And I will tell her about you.”

* * *

When Lia awoke on the warm and comfortable pallet, she found she was being watched by a young man she had never met. His eyes blinked as did hers, and she sat up in alarm.

“Do not be frightened,” he said, rising quickly from the chest he sat on. He held up his hands in a placating gesture and backed away. “Your name is Lia. I know of you from Colvin. He asked me to watch over you, to see that none disturbed your rest.”

She rubbed her eyes, feeling awkward and embarrassed, for his was a handsome face. Younger than Colvin but older than her. Probably sixteen or seventeen. His hair was long and fair, the color of straw. It was unfashionable, but he was still handsome. His features were slender.

“How long have you been watching me?” she asked, aware of the filthy dress she wore. Part of the sleeve was ripped and she wore a man’s bracers and girdle. “Who are you?”

His eyes widened. “I have embarrassed you. Forgive me. I have had sufficient time to mop the blood from my face while you kept vigil all night. I should have remembered that my sisters are keenly aware of their appearance, yet I thought nothing of it. Again, forgive me. My name is Edmon. My older brother was the earl of Norris-York.” He stepped closer, looking into her eyes pleadingly while fidgeting with his hands. “I am now to hold that estate, humble as it is.” His expression became pained. “Let me explain. My brother was sent to bring Colvin Price to Winterrowd. Our domains border each other. My brother was to find him near Muirwood and bring him here. I have since learned that it was
you
who led Colvin here because my brother was murdered by the sheriff of Mendenhall. You are the one who found where his body lay in a garden near Muirwood.” He looked down for a moment. “I am indebted to you. Because of you, Colvin brought me our father’s sword and chaen shirt. His blood-stained tunic. I am not yet a maston, but I will be within the year, if the Medium wills it.” He stopped, turned red in the face, then bowed his head. “I wanted to thank you in person, Lia of Muirwood. My gratitude may be small compared to Colvin’s, but I feel it most keenly. You made it possible for me to fight this day and win my collar. I will always be grateful to you and count you as a friend.”

Lia had no idea what to say, she was so dismayed by his gratitude. She had not suspected the maston sent to fetch Colvin would be another earl of the realm. Like Colvin, he had refused to say his name and reveal his identity. “I am grateful to meet you, Edmon,” she said, and it felt hollow. She felt filthy, unworthy of the look of kindness on his face.

He stood quickly then went to the tent flap. “I will tell Colvin you have awoken.” He parted the curtain and looked outside. “By Idumea, what is happening?” he said, almost to himself.

Lia pulled away the blankets and joined him at the entryway. She heard the voice before she saw the speaker. It was loud and strong and throbbed with emotion. Outside the pavilion, a hundred men clustered around a wagon. The speaker, an aging knight-maston, stood atop. His face was spattered with blood and grime, so much so that she could hardly make out any features except his dark hair, wavy and matted with sweat. A helmet nestled in the crook of his arm and his maston sword hung from a scabbard at his side. His voice was hoarse and raspy, and it reminded her of the Aldermaston.

“I am told by the king’s herald that many fell on the fields of Winterrowd this day. The numbering is now done. Bodies are being laid to rest in mother earth. In number, over eight thousand were killed from the king’s army.” A gasp and sigh went through the camp. “All the day long I have been plagued with questions. How many of our brothers have fallen? Do I know what happened to a lad carried away from the field in blood? How many who stood beneath our banner fell this day? I know that Trowbridge and Holland are still with the surgeons. Many of you sustained grave wounds today. But here it is, nearly dusk.” He looked up at the red-rimmed sky and swallowed his surging emotions. “By Idumea’s grace alone, there is none of ours fallen this day. Not one. I am…I am astonished beyond measure.”

Another rush of sentiment began to churn, but Demont held his hand high into the air. Lia saw the gray flecks in his hair above his ears, watched as the crowd fell silent. His lip trembled. “It is through the will of the Medium that we owe our victory. Let no man who was here this day declare otherwise. My brothers…the day is ours.”

Lia saw the tears tremble on his lashes, and she knew what he was thinking. His thoughts were choked with visions of Maseve and the battle his own father lost.

Before midnight, two days later, they arrived at Muirwood on horseback. Lia had fallen asleep in the saddle again, her face pressed against Colvin’s back, while the village around Muirwood showed no signs of life. The gates of the abbey were closed. A few lamps flickered beyond soot-stained windows in the small huddle of buildings on High Street. The leaves from robust oaks sighed with the breezes.

Colvin approached the gate on horseback, and a porter was waiting there with a lantern. “The gates do not open until morning, my lord,” he said blearily.

“Tell the Aldermaston that…”

“He knows you are coming, Lord Price. I was to wait up for you. The Aldermaston left rooms for you at the Pilgrim Inn. Over yonder. Be ready then, in the morning, to present yourselves. You will be summoned when the gates open.”

“Thank you,” Colvin replied and tugged the reins to turn the stallion about. Edmon and several other horsemen followed to the inn.

“It did not take long to reach here,” Edmon said thoughtfully, then yawned. “Are you still going to hold a vigil for her?”

He stared at the inn, remembering vividly the last time he had come and who had rescued him. For a moment, he was prisoner to those memories. Wordlessly, he nodded.

“I will join you then. For her sake. She deserves the best room.” Edmon dismounted and helped steady her as Colvin slid off the stallion. He carried her up the stairs himself.

* * *

Lia awoke on the softest stuffed mattress, beneath the cleanest sheets, and resting amidst the plumpest pillows in the entire village. Warmth shimmered from the brazier. Lifting her head, she looked around and slowly recognized the room. There was the table where days before, the sheriff’s men had eaten the feast and fallen asleep while she rescued Colvin. The noise that had awakened her was the door as it butted open and in came a girl she recognized from that adventure, Bryn, carrying a long brown dress and fresh girdle. In the other hand, she carried a tray of bread and some white cheese.

“I am sent to help you,” Bryn said cheerily. “The Aldermaston’s steward just arrived from the tunnels. He is to take you back now, but we must clean you up first.”

Lia swung her legs over the side of the bed, squeezing the sheets and mattress, savoring their softness. “Am I alone? I do not even remember arriving last night.”

“Were you expecting
mastons
to sleep here with you all alone?” She set the tray on the table and crossed to the window and opened the shutters to peek outside. “Most slept in rooms down the hall. Two guard your door even now. The earl of Forshee, he stayed awake all night in the common room. So did the earl of Norris-York. We asked them if they were weary, and they said they were not. They are waiting in the kitchen for you now with Prestwich. Do you remember me? Can you not tell me your name still?”

Lia nodded. “Mine is Lia. I have not forgotten you, Bryn. Or what your family did for me.”

“Well, neither did the earl of Forshee,” she said smugly. “He rewarded us amply. Come over. I will brush your hair. It is a nest of snags. I can help you wash.”

Lia stopped by the window and looked out. Dawn touched the sky with pink and she could barely see the outline of the abbey against a sea of purple sky. Her heart thrilled. Bryn dragged a stool by the brazier, and Lia went to enjoy the warmth. There was a mirror nearby and what she saw in it revolted her. Turning away, she ate the warm bread while Bryn brushed the many tangles out of her hair, then gathered the mass into a thick bunch and brushed it even more vigorously. Lia’s garment was fit to be burned, and she was grateful that Bryn had brought one of her own dresses to wear. It was a little short and snug, but it fit her. She tied the pouch with the Cruciger orb to the girdle. Bryn lifted the hair and scrubbed her neck and ears with a towel and water from the basin near the brazier. Lia washed her face and hands. The water was warm and reminded her of the Leering stone in the Bearden Muir, when Colvin had helped her bathe. She paused at the memory, her heart fluttering. She was anxious to see him. And nervous. He had let her have the soft bed and had forsaken sleep. The thought made her glow inside.

When they were through, Lia returned to the mirror. She looked at herself closely. Her skin was darker than she thought it would be from her days in the sun. There were little cuts and scrapes all over her face and arms, especially a dark scab on the end of her chin from her fall on the hillside at Winterrowd. In the reflection, she saw the twine string around her neck and delicately withdrew the wedding band she had worn so long. She tucked it back in quickly when Bryn approached.

“What should I do with these?” she asked, carrying over the leather girdle, the gladius, the bracers, and the unstrung bow and quiver. Jon Hunter’s face flickered in her eyes at seeing the implements, and it made her heart throb with agony. Yes, she had returned safely to Muirwood, but he was dead in the Bearden Muir. For a moment, she could not speak, her voice too thick with emotion, too fragile to risk with words. She nearly wept, but forced herself not to.