The Blight of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 2)

“I already knew that, Lia.”

They reached the gatehouse, which was opened for them. The streets were full of people and carts, the traffic of buying and selling that Lia loathed so much. The people of the village were rude and getting ruder still as they usually did before twilight. A few looked askance in her direction, but she ignored them. Several whispered behind their hands and then pointed at Colvin. The wind scattered leaves and dust and Lia looked up and saw clouds rushing in from the north. That usually meant a sea storm.

The Pilgrim Inn bustled with stain-splotched travelers and weary helpers. She looked for any indication that something was wrong. Siler was talking to some guests, but waved to her. The children were playing at the main table with the guests, one of which was an older woman who fawned over them. Lia approached Siler.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked him.

He looked at her in confusion. “A storm blowing in, by the look of it. I have Brant up fixing the roof right now. Did you see if he was using a rope? I hate it when he forgets to use a rope. Does the Aldermaston need anything?”

“Is Maud in the kitchen?” Lia asked.

“Yes, I believe so. She was when I last checked. At least I think so. I am not sure.”

So Lia and Colvin went to the rear of the inn and entered the kitchen. As Lia opened the door, she tested the air, feeling for Myriad Ones. Maud was by herself, preparing a stew and bread hastily. She looked over as they entered and grabbed a tray of loaves.

“Lia!” Her face looked worried, but she brightened. “I was thinking about you a short time ago and worried. Are you doing well? How is Bryn and Pasqua?”

Lia looked around the kitchen, searching for anything out of place. “Why are the children playing in the common room? They normally play in here.”

Maud’s face clouded. “They do not want to play in here any more.”

“Is something wrong, Maud?”

She bit her lip. “No, not really. It is just…well, I told Siler we should tell the Aldermaston, but he did not want to trouble him. It is the Leering down in the cellar. It has been acting…strangely. The children are frightened to go down there now. You know children and how they can imagine things. But even I have been a little nervous about going down myself. It is probably nothing.”

Lia shook her head. “It is the reason I am here. Go with Siler and do not let anyone in. Wait for us. It will not take long.”

Maud dried her hands on the towel and rushed out of the kitchen. Lia turned to Colvin and nodded to the trapdoor near the far wall. That trapdoor was the last place they had seen each other before his return to Muirwood. He walked over and pulled on the heavy iron ring, heaving it up effortlessly. Lia walked around the other side, hand on hilt. Colvin’s jaw was set – as tense as any time she’d seen him. He drew his blade.

“The cellar is not very big…” Lia started to say. She did not feel the presence of anyone below.

“How large is it?” Colvin asked. He looked nervous.

“Not very large. Shelves and stores mostly. The Leering is on that side,” she said. “I will go down first.”

But he was already ahead of her, jumping into the pit from the ridge, landing with a thud.

Angrily, she started down the ladder and entered after him. It felt wrong – foreboding. The feeling came from the Leering carved into the stone door, and she silenced it with her mind. After untying the strings, she withdrew the Cruciger orb from the pouch and it flared brightly, casting away the shadows. Colvin looked behind some barrels and then motioned her over. His jaw was clenched.

From the position of the barrels, a space had been cleared away. There were chicken bones, crumbs, and holes in the barrels, spilling food. Bootprints were all over the floor and milled grain.

“He is not here,” Colvin said. “He knew you were coming.”

“True, but he does not know that I have this,” Lia said, holding up the orb. In her mind, she focused on his face, the image and smells of him that she remembered – scruffy chin, bloodshot eyes, the stink of sweat and onions. The spindles on the orb began to whir.

CHAPTER TEN:

Storm on the Tor

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Gusts of cold wind knifed through Lia’s cloak, chilling her skin. An occasional drop of rain splattered against her face, but the brunt of the storm was still looming in the sky. Her cloak flapped behind her with the wind, as if it would be torn away, so she clutched it at her throat and marched on. Colvin scowled, not wearing a cloak himself, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his look determined.