The Blight of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 2)

She passed through the Abbey walls as if they were made of clouds instead of stone. More and more knight-mastons were coming, one-by-one from the Rood Screen. It was an army! It was Demont’s entire army! They had not been killed in the north? She did not understand it. But even though she could not, she discovered that it did not matter. She was safe and warm, comforted by the Medium’s power. Safe from all harm and from all tears.

She was nearly to the Veil when something snagged at her. It stuck to her and halted her. She was aware of a feeling of discomfort and pain. She did not want to feel that again. She shrunk from it. The feeling was persistent. She was falling, back…away…falling down a well shaft into an icy bath of water full of knives and bones and teeth. There was pain and agony and then a warm, calming glow. A calming glow that suddenly flared white hot and bright.

A voice spoke through the light – Colvin’s voice.

“Lia Hunter, I Gift you with life. Come back to me. You will live. By Idumea’s hand, you will live. Come back.”

She blinked. There was the pressure of his hand on the crown of her head. There was the sound of water and waves sloshing against her and she realized she was cold and soaked. She blinked again and again until she was able to see. Looking up, she saw Colvin’s face, saw the tears running down his cheeks as he lifted her in his arms and started to carry her up the hill.

Lia could see over his shoulder. Where there had been a meadow full of soldiers she saw a vast lake. The Tor was tall enough not to be covered, but everything else for leagues was submerged. Muirwood rose like an island, protected on all sides.

“You brought me back,” she whispered in his ear. There was so much pain in her side and leg that she could hardly think.

“The price was paid,” he answered. “It was enough.”

She nodded, smiled, and rested her cheek against his neck and fell unconscious.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE:

Farewell

When Lia awoke from the draught that Siara Healer had made her swallow, her eyelashes fluttered slowly. She did not know where she was. The only light was the gentle glow of fire from a hearth. Lia blinked again, trying to clear her vision. When she tried to move, to sit up, her body coiled with pain and she gasped. Her left hand was so bandaged that she could not wiggle her fingers. She wondered if she would be able to use it in the future, if it would ever heal. It took several moments to realize where she was – the room in the manor house where Marciana and Ellowyn had slept. There were no windows, so she did not know whether it was day or night. She rested on the feather-stuffed bed beneath a thick coverlet.

“Do not move,” Colvin said, coming from the shadows. He approached and sat on the edge of the bed. She tried to sit up again, but winced with pain as every movement reminded her of her injuries.

“Here, let me help you,” he offered, arranging the pillows for support and then lifting her slowly. She wore the thin, soft chemise that Marciana had given her over her chaen.

“The Abbey is safe?” she asked, but she knew that it was. She could feel the warm peaceful feeling in the air.

“Yes, because of you,” he answered.

She was grateful. A great sadness welled up in her heart when she remembered the Aldermaston collapsing at the gate and his thoughts went black. He was dead, she was sure of it. She could not bring herself to ask though. She blinked back tears.

Opening her eyes, she stared at him again, noticing the difference. “You have shaved,” she whispered hoarsely seeing his face in the firelight – there was a red scar on his cheek. As she cleared her throat, he fetched a cup of water to soothe her thirst. He held the cup to her mouth and she drank deeply. “Better,” she said after. “Is it very late?”

He shook his head. “The sun will set soon. You slept most of the day.”

“Where is Ellowyn?”

Colvin looked down at her and smiled, his expression a quirk of interest. “With her uncle. No, she is not dead. And neither is Garen Demont.”

Lia closed her eyes, remembering the vision she had seen. “I remember,” she said. “He came through the Apse Veil with all of his knights. I remember seeing him…after I died.” The thought made her shiver, despite the warmth of the hearth and Colvin so near. She opened her eyes again and looked into his face which was tender and conflicted. “You brought me back, Colvin. How?”

His lips pursed in a struggle with a smile he tried to prevent. “Your gratitude overwhelms me,” he said blandly, then scratched his hair and gave her a pointed look that said she was ridiculous. “Do you think that I could force the Medium to do anything?” With one hand, he touched the ring dangling over the leather jerkin from around his neck. The motion drew her attention to it. He lifted the ring and looked at it and then at her. “When you tossed this at me, I was conflicted. I could not bring myself to let you die to save us. But I also recognized that the Medium might expect it. That was an awful moment for me. A terrible moment. That I might lose you forever.” His weight shifted and she felt her throat constrict, feeling him so near. His face was so unguarded, so exposed it made her tremble. “I wanted to believe that it would not end that way. So I waited as you ran off and pled for the Medium’s direction. I could follow the gully the way you pointed, to Maderos’ cave. Or the other way which was the direction you went. Very clearly, I knew what I should do. I told Ellowyn to go the other way and hide amidst the ossuaries. All of the soldiers were following you like moths. I was there in the gully, near you, when they caught you at last. The Medium commanded me to save you.” He gently reached out and brushed a lock of curly hair away from her face. “It was a command I was pleased to obey. I knew I could bring you back. I was there so that I could, even though I am not an Aldermaston.”