The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 1)

Her eyes bored into his. “He may think I have his medallion.”

Colvin was silent, his eyes widening.

“The night he stole into the kitchen. He was using it against me…making me fear him. I saw a chain around his neck and when I snapped it off, the fear left me. He chased me out of the kitchen, but then Jon Hunter arrived. When I went back, I hid it.”

He rose to his feet instantly. “You did not mention that when you told me. You said you saw the amulet, but you did not…did he…did he hurt you?”

She nodded. “A little. I might have hurt him worst though. I scratched his face.”

He stared again. “If he thought you had the medallion, would not he also presume that you gave it to the Aldermaston? Surely he is more powerful in the Medium than the sheriff!”

“That presumes there is trust between the Aldermaston and I. The sheriff could probably see there is little. By hiding you, did I not prove my lack of loyalty? Scarseth stole it when he betrayed me. He has it.”

Colvin breathed deeply. “And through the Medium, I just took away his voice. If the sheriff thinks you still have it…of course he will want it back. A thwarted man is dangerous.”

Lia closed her eyes again and rested her forehead on her arms. “There is something else,” she mumbled.

“What?”

“When the sheriff first came – the morning we snuck into the orchard – I was in the kitchen with the Aldermaston there and Pasqua. He…he said that he knew my father. He told me that night, in the dark, that he was one of the ones who had murdered him.”

Colvin looked at her intensely. “Did he say who your father was?”

She shook her head. “But he made me believe that I might be a Demont.”

Again, he looked stunned. “Did he say as much?”

“Only that the blood of my Family was still on his sword. That they were cruelly punished after their deaths. My grandfather, my father, my uncle were all killed. Just like the Demont family at Maseve. I had never even heard of Demont before the sheriff came.”

Colvin paced a moment, brooding over what she had said. The sky was nearly black, the horse just a shadow at the base of the hill. He walked back and forth near her, struggling with his thoughts. He glanced up, stopped, then stared back the way they had come.

The moonlight gleamed off the river, making it turn silver. But on the far bank, there were torches and lanterns, pinpricks of light against an impenetrable black field. At least a dozen lights, swarming like fireflies.

“Almaguer,” he whispered. There was fear in his voice.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO:

Fear

Lia had received a new blanket as a nameday present from Pasqua when she was ten. She had outgrown her childhood one, and she loved that she did not need to curl up her legs in order to keep them covered. The blanket had its own smell after so many years in the kitchen. She took care of it, folding it every morning and storing it in a wicker basket. That was where it still was – alone in the basket, until another tall, spindly wretched would claim it.

Those were Lia’s thoughts as she fell asleep, shivering, in the Bearden Muir, wrapped in a wet cloak, dress damp, on hard, poky ground amidst a thousand brittle oak leaves. The torches and lanterns of Almaguer’s men had remained on the far side of the river and had not moved for several hours. In fact, a bright campfire shone in the distance, luring her with a false promise of warmth. Colvin had promised to wake her at midnight so that she might have a turn watching the sheriff’s camp.

Exhausted, she fell asleep, but it was a fitful sleep. She knew she was uncomfortable, her back and legs aching, yet her mind was somewhere else – back at the kitchen with Pasqua, hurrying to prepare the evening meal for the Aldermaston. Memories flitted by, a jumble of past conversations, both spoken and unspoken ones. Then she was back, gazing down at herself on the hillside, her face pale, spattered, and gritty. Colvin was asleep leaning against the tree trunk, hands folded in his lap peacefully. She envied him that. A whisper sounded in the dark, and the crunch of leaves and twigs. Almaguer, robed in black, advanced up the hill, a gleaming sword in his hand. She knew it was him for his eyes glowed silver, illuminating small circles that only just touched his cheeks. Moonlight revealed the medallion around his neck, and blackness emanated from it, stealing through the mistless night and engulfing the hillock like a shroud.

Lia felt like a leaf, hovering on the wind. She screamed but no sound came out. She had to warn herself, to wake herself. The more she tugged at the immaterial bonds, the more the night breezes puffed her this way and that. She saw Colvin stir, but he slept – he did not waken. In her mind, she screamed out to him as Almaguer advanced up the hill, straight towards them. Colvin slept soundly – peacefully. Wake up! Wake up! she screamed in her mind. She pulled at the invisible threads separating her from her shivering body. Still Almaguer approached, the magic from the medallion wreathing in the air like smoke. Only the smoke had shapes – of men, of beasts – like wolves stalking in the dark, each with gleaming eyes of silver.