The Blight of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 2)

Lia stared at him. He looked even older and his eyes burned as if he had a fever. Prestwich helped walk him towards the bed.

“But…” Pasqua hedged, obviously distressed about being dismissed from her own kitchen.

But the Aldermaston did not speak further. Slowly, step by step, he approached, his eyes fixed on Lia’s. Prestwich helped him sit and then stood away.

“Even you, old friend,” the Aldermaston whispered. Prestwich nodded with a surly look and left the kitchen, as did the others. Pasqua grumbled indignantly but soon the door was shut and a hush fell over the kitchen, except for the snap and crack of the fire.

Lia reached out and took the old man’s hand with hers. She squeezed it, giving him a look of warmth and respect. Her throat choked with tears. It was such a relief to see him awake, his dark eyebrows arched over his fiery eyes. “What is it you would tell me?” she asked hoarsely.

He looked at her intently. “I have learned what happened three days ago. I have learned of your injuries. I know that Colvin has taken…her…to Dahomey because of the writing on the Cruciger orb. How were you able to read it, child? What did it say?”

She swallowed, leaning back against the pillows, and told the story of their journey through Pry-Ree and the arrival at Tintern Abbey. He listened carefully, waiting with great curiosity, great interest on his face. She spoke of their return, Dieyre’s betrayal, and the flight through the Bearden Muir. He listened carefully, saying nothing until she was finished.

“The Aldermaston of Tintern,” he whispered, his eyes gazing down at the bed. “He knew you? He…recognized you?”

“Yes, but he would not say who I am. When I am well, I should like to go back and speak to him. I wish he had told me what he knew.”

The Aldermaston grunted. “He cannot, child.”

Lia looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I am sure the Medium binds his tongue. So they have gone to Dahomey.” He sighed deeply. “That is where it will begin. That is where it will start.”

“What?” Lia asked, her stomach coiling with worry. “The Blight?”

He nodded. “I saw it in vision. I saw what Aldermastons in many countries have been seeing. We have all seen the colors of the leaves changing, predicting the passing of a season. But I have seen the result. I have seen the skeletal trees remaining when all the leaves have fallen. It is a Blight greater than any other we have known. A sickness and plague that will destroy everyone. Everyone. Not a man, woman, or child will survive it when it comes. Its devastation will be complete. Total. It will be the end of all kingdoms.” His look burned into hers. “I have seen it in my mind. There is only one way to save ourselves and that is to abandon these shores. The exodus has already begun. The Aldermaston of Tintern told you of it.”

“Yes,” Lia said. “There are boats. They are building ships. Some have already departed. But why Pry-Ree? Why were they given the warning first? Why is it that you did not see it coming?”

He rocked slowly back and forth, his expression pained but thoughtful. “Pry-Ree was a proud kingdom. Too proud. You have heard Martin speak of it. That they succumbed swiftly to their fate and their princes all were killed. I would disagree with part of his assessment. Many of their princes were strong with the Medium. They knew what was going to happen. The people did not heed their leaders, and so the leaders were taken away. The people focused on earning coins through trade and bringing in the latest spices and metals from other realms and not on learning from tomes. So the Medium abandoned them in their hour of need. As a result of their humiliating defeat, they have learned humility. Only by being broken were they able to see that their aim was fixed on the wrong course. The humility of their people gave their Aldermastons vision. Some pine for the old days of glory. But in the end, it is the fall of Pry-Ree that will save us all.”

Lia shivered with the thought. “What must we do then?”

“We must ask them to save us.” His face twisted with pain and regret. “But do you see the trouble, Lia? We are too proud ourselves. We, the conquerors. Can you imagine someone like the Earl of Dieyre asking that forsaken people for help? Begging aid from a nation so humbled? They who hate us and we hate them? Some would rather die. Most will not even believe the situation is so dire. They will not believe because they do not want to believe. Because it would alter their view of the world.”

She remembered something Ciana had told her once. We are slow to believe that which if believed would hurt our feelings.