The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 1)

She was helpless, unable to reach her body again. If the dream ended, it would tug her back inside. She willed herself to awaken. She struggled against the chains of sleep. Wake up! Wake up! Almaguer reached the crest, staring down at her body. The smoke-shapes circled around them, eyes greedy. Almaguer took his hand off the amulet. Somehow, she could see beneath his shirt – at the black whorl of tattoos that crisscrossed his chest and even now were inching up his throat, across his shoulders, growing with every use of the medallion.

The smoke-shapes sniffed at her and Colvin, fingers and muzzles and paws rooting against their clothes, the touch lighter than a gasp of breath. A sick feeling bloomed inside as she watching them, disgusted, polluted, sniffing at her. She tried to pull herself awake in vain.

Then Almaguer knelt by her. His hand reached out and he touched her hair, running his fingers through its curly tangles. Almost she could feel it, those fingers coiling into her hair, and a worm of sickness spread through her whole soul. She shuddered, she revolted, she cringed from the tender gesture that was not meant with any degree of tenderness. His fingers stiffened around a thick clump of hair. Moonlight blinded her off the edge of his sword as the tip suddenly plunged into her heart.

“It is your turn.”

Her eyes opened to the blackness of night. The moon was pale, only half of its brightness. Her arms and legs were sore and cramped with cold.

“It is your turn,” Colvin repeated, shaking her shoulder even harder. “Come on. Are you awake?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart shriveling in her chest with the vividness of the dream.

He crouched next to her and then straightened. “It is past midnight. I let you sleep as long as I could. If I do not rest, I will be useless tomorrow.” He groaned. “I have never been this tired in my life. Sit against the tree, but not for long. It helps to stay warm and awake if you keep moving.”

Lia raised herself on her elbow. Her heart shivered. The feeling, the blackness, was still there. “Almaguer is coming,” she whispered, believing the dream was a warning.

“I think not,” he answered. “I have watched their camp all night. The fire has burned low, but you can still see it. They make no effort to hide themselves. They have horses and lanterns. Not even they are fool enough to cross the river in the dark.”

He was not listening to her. She stood, grateful to be awake, but fear roiled in her heart. “He is coming tonight. I felt him.” She glanced around the hillock, looking for his glowing eyes. Nothing. She was terrified. Her heart beat wildly in her chest.

He snorted with disbelief. “If you see him, let me know. I will keep my sword ready. Now I am going to sleep. Wake me if the lanterns light up again, or you hear something large – I mean larger than a squirrel. There have been deer in the meadow in the night. And I heard a wolf howl once. Have you ever slept out of doors before?”

“No,” she said, choking back a sob that he did not hear.

“I used to hunt with my father. The night is full of noises. If a large animal comes up here, wake me. Or the sheriff. Do not wake me otherwise.”

Without giving her a second look, Colvin lay down on the earth, his back to her, his head resting on the saddle as a pillow, his hand on the hilt of his maston sword. He had no cloak or blanket.

Around her, in the dark, she felt as if the smoke-shapes were still sniffing against her clothes. She did not sleep. She could not sleep. Dread tormented her the rest of the night.

* * *

Before dawn, the lowlands of the Bearden Muir were covered in mist, engulfing even the hillock and its trees. From Lia’s earliest days she had seen the mists and they were comforting to her, but on this morning, they terrified her. Her heart was a throbbing pulp of misery. Her eyes were swollen from all the tears. Colvin awoke with the dawn and set about saddling the horse again, without saying a word of greeting. He chafed his arms constantly, but he did not complain of being cold. His discomfort was plain enough from his expression.

Coming back up the hill, he handed her another apple.

“I am thirsty,” she mumbled, taking the fruit from his grimy hand.

“As am I,” he replied. “I had a thought while I was saddling the stallion. We are still another two days from Winterrowd, if Maderos was right. I doubt we will die of thirst by then, but if there is a safe spring to drink from, the Cruciger orb would know. If not, we will suffer patiently. But if there is one along our path, or close to it, that would be helpful. You could ask the orb.”

Lia had not thought of that herself, and she was angry that Colvin had first. After untying the pouch, she emptied the orb into her hand. It was cold and heavy. In her mind, she repeated his request. If there is safe water along the journey, show us the way.