The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 3)

She had no weapons, but she did not feel they would be appropriate for her now, as an Aldermaston. She had the Medium to warn and guide and protect her. But still, she craved a blade dangling from her side.

The sound came from the kitchen, the clang of a pan falling. There was a muttered oath and then the shuffling sound of boots. Only one person and one horse. She had not heard anything to make her think otherwise.

Lia peered around the side of the kitchen and saw the brown mare, lathered with foam and sniffing and nibbling at the brush and plants outside the kitchen. The beast was saddled and there was a scabbard dangling from the horn, but it was empty. The horse raised its head when it saw her and nickered softly.

“What is it?” murmured a man’s voice as he emerged from the kitchen holding a maston sword.

She saw the hilt first, the gleaming hilt with the symbol she had recognized as a child. The tunic was of a knight of Winterrowd. Disappointment crushed her as she saw his face, the curly dark hair and slim sallow cheeks. She had never seen him before in her life. Or if she had, she did not recognize him. He was not as tall as Colvin. He was a stranger.

The sword was leveled at her immediately. “Who are you?” he demanded hotly, his face full of suspicion.

“I am the Aldermaston of Muirwood,” Lia replied. “Please, put away your weapon.”

“You are the Aldermaston?” he said, his face scrunching with irritation. “Is that a jest?” He waved his free arm towards the rubble of the Abbey.

“I am the Aldermaston still,” Lia replied. “You are a knight of Winterrowd. I recognize your clothing, but I do not know your name. Were you looking for food?”

The word made his eyes widen with hunger. “Yes! I am half-starved. I have ridden for two days without rest.” His horse validated his words. The mare looked exhausted and worn out. “I have eaten little, not trusting myself into the hands of strangers. I had hopes that Muirwood had not fallen, despite the stories. But I see that I arrived too late. It has already fallen to the Blight.” He ran his hand through his tangled hair.

“You are a maston?” Lia asked, staring at him.

“Yes.”

“Let me see your palm.”

Only another maston would know to look there for the scar. He lowered his sword and shifted it to his other hand. After tugging off his glove, he showed her his dirty palm, but she could see the mark of the stone where it had burned him.

“You wear a necklace?” he asked her, his eyes squinting warily. “A charm of some sort?”

“Not a kystrel,” Lia answered with a nod and showed him the ring she wore on the string. He looked relieved.

“I am grateful it is not,” he murmured somberly. His eyes glowed with inner fire. “They are powerful. Even the strongest mastons succumb to them. The strongest of us all.”

Lia looked at him, her stomach lurching. “Where did you ride from, sir knight?”

“The Battle of Forshee. Though it was not much of a battle.” His teeth grit together. “We abandoned the earl and each rode our own way.” He rubbed his mouth on his arm, his face livid with memories. “I should have left for Pry-Ree when Demont was murdered. I thought Forshee would redeem the mastons, but he could not. Not with her as his wife.” He looked at her blackly. “The earl’s wife is hetaera. I know she is. You could see it just looking at her. I could not serve him. And now he is ill, and…”

Lia did not mean to, but she started. “Ill? What do you mean? The Earl of Forshee?”

“Who other?” he replied with a growl. “He came back from Dahomey with Demont’s niece and said he was bidden to marry her, even though the king had sworn peace if she became his queen. Instead of ending this business, he began it anew. They were married at Billerbeck Abbey on Twelfth Night, and then the Blight struck him. He fell sick two days ago. He was coughing and retching. The Dowager’s forces were closing in when I took flight. They were closing the ring around us, but I made it through. Forshee was too sick to ride. Pareigis hunts every maston now. I heard in Wells town that the king’s army of mercenaries will land now that the storm has passed over, but the Queen Dowager already has the kingdom under her grip. They will kill Forshee for treason, they will. If the sickness does not end him first.”

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN:

Fallen Blossoms

Winter ended with an abruptness that surprised Lia. It seemed as if snow crusted the forlorn Abbey grounds one day and then the next, a warm humid breeze floated in and the ice melted away all at once. For a fortnight at least, she had experienced the stirrings of the Medium preparing her that when spring came, it was time to leave Muirwood. Something would happen – she did not know what. Perhaps the Queen Dowager would send her army. Perhaps the Dochte Mandar would arrive. Something was coming and she felt uneasiness, a warning to prepare. Perhaps Maderos would come and relieve her of the burden he had placed on her. She thought that the ships would not leave during the winter, not when brutal storms lashed the seas with their utmost ferocity. They would have gathered to a safehaven, to a secret place. Spring would bring calm waters and she would need time to track them in Pry-Ree quickly. Without the Cruciger orb, it would make the search more difficult.