The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 1)

After tugging off his blood-stained gloves, he stuffed them into his belt. His fingers were caked with dirt. But his smile – it was thrilling to see. She wanted to touch him, to know he was real, but shyness forbade her. Relief engulfed her and she bit her tongue to keep from sobbing.

“Have you heard the news, Lia?” he asked her, his smile beaming.

“What is it?” she said, thrilled to see him alive. Her heart felt like bursting.

He shook his head, as if it were too delicious to speak. “The old king is dead. His son and heir was captured on the field. They are already calling him the young king. He is in Demont’s tent right now. I just came from there myself. Demont is declared Lord Protector of the realm.” One of his hands strayed up, fondling the collar and its jeweled symbol. “Lia, I was just made a knight-maston. Just now, by the young king’s hand. A knight-maston of the order of Winterrowd. The earldom of my father will be granted in a ceremony soon. Lia – I never believed…I never hoped…it feels like a dream. That I will awaken and it is dawn and the battle has not happened yet. Is it…is it real?”

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.”