The Wretched of Muirwood (27 page)

She reached for the pouch with the Cruciger orb and untied the strings while Colvin fed another apple to the horse. After tugging open the strings, she withdrew the orb and again thought the words –
show us the safe road to Winterrowd.

Nothing happened.

For a moment, there was panic that she had failed again, but there was no doubt or fear in her heart this time. Nothing that should have barred the Medium from touching her thoughts.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

Words in the same cryptic language appeared in the lower portion of the orb. The spindles did not move, they floated as if a duck on a lake.

Show me the road to Winterrowd
, she thought, and the spindles turned and pointed to the northwest.

“What did you do differently?” he asked.

Lia bit her lip. “I asked it to show us the
safe
road. It did nothing.”

The words written on the orb were meaningless, but it was as if she could feel their warning without being told the translation. The orb was warning them. There was no safe road ahead. A thrashing noise in the thicket alerted them both.

Colvin’s face turned ashen. “Almaguer’s men.”

“But if they are behind us, why is it not safe to go ahead?” Lia asked frantically.

Colvin looked the other direction, cocking his head. “Listen. They are coming at us from many sides. Why did the orb lead us down here then?”

“Perhaps this was the safest path – at the time. But we waited too long?”

Colvin gripped her shoulders. “The Medium can deliver us still. Believe in that, Lia. Fear will only bring them faster.”

She tried to swallow the surge of fear squirming in her stomach like a nest of serpents. Where was Jon? She did not dare call out to him. That would tell the sheriff exactly where they were.

Colvin worked at the saddle straps and freed the second sword and scabbard that Maderos had given them. He thrust it into her hands. “You may need this.”

“I do not know how to use a…”

“I know! I will do my best to protect you, but one of them may try to grab you while I am fighting the others. Swing it like a stick if you must.”

“It is so heavy,” Lia said, feeling its bulk.

“Heavy kills quicker,” he snapped. “You do not swing it in the scabbard. If they come, pull it out and swing it. You want to lead with the edge. You…” He stopped, as if hearing something.

“What is it?” Lia asked, turning around the way Jon left. “Should we run?”

“How?” Colvin snorted. “We need the horse. If there was a haven elsewhere, the orb would have told us. Trust the Medium, Lia. Trust the Medium. It will not fail us. It will not. Come on, this way.” He tugged at the bridle.

Lia remembered something Maderos had said.
If you take the road, you will be captured.
Her thoughts brought his words perfectly, even the accent. She had assumed that if they had taken the road, they would be captured on the road. Now she understood it differently. Their capture would happen after. Or because of having taken the road.

“Colvin,” she said.

A set of riders emerged from the woods ahead of them, towards the direction of Winterrowd. Three of the sheriff’s men, their faces haggard with fatigue, their eyes burning with anger. The horses dripped foam from the bits, their flanks were lathered as well and bloody from the spurs. Lia’s heart cringed for the beasts.

Colvin took a deep breath and unsheathed his sword. Three against one.

“Do not do this,” Lia warned him.

“I can kill three. If the Medium helps me, I can do it.”

“Maderos said it, remember?” He started towards the sheriff’s men, but she grabbed his shirt and yanked hard. “Maderos said it! If we took the road, we would be captured.”

His face stormed with anger. “Please! Do not infect me with your fear.”

Lia wanted to slap him. “I am afraid, but not like before. Listen to me. It brought us here. It knew something would happen here. You are right to trust the Medium. Let us trust it.”

“By surrendering? How do you know the orb is not telling us to fight a way clear?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the sheriff’s men approaching languidly. They were in no hurry. The hunt was over – it was time for the kill.

She clutched his arm. “I do not want you to die, Colvin,” she whispered. “If your sister were here, she would say it herself. Think of me as your own sister. Please. Do not do this. For her sake.”

One of the men spoke, his voice gravelly and rough. “He looks as if he would like to cry. Look at him. All quivery. C’mon lad, do not cry. It has been a hard ride for us.”

“A wretched chase,” said another, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You are not going to quit now, surely?”

The third dismounted, sword in hand. “If you will not fight, then shine our boots, squire.” The stiff grass hissed as he advanced on them. The other two dismounted. “They are a little mucky. You can shine them with that stained coat of arms you wear. You sniveling shunt! Demont’s man!” He hocked and spat.

Colvin looked her in the eye, his jaw clenched with anger. “You are my sister,” he whispered.

For an instant, she had hope. It sputtered out.

Turning, he thrust at the sheriff’s men, charging into the midst of them, blade flashing with sunlight from the setting sun. The rattle of blades, the singing steel, but in her mind, her heard screams. The blood on his tunic was screaming.

It was three against one, and he fell quickly. Maybe his foot was still throbbing from his battle with Jon Hunter. Maybe a loose rock tripped him. She watched him fall and watched the soldiers pounce on him. Lia cringed and buried her face into the stallion’s mane, still hearing the screams, knowing what these men had done to other mastons before him. Unable to watch as they started kicking him, she wept.

* * *

“Having conceived of a purpose, a maston should mentally mark out a straight pathway to its achievement, looking neither to the right nor left. Doubts and fears should be zealously starved. They are disintegrating elements which break up the straight path, rendering it crooked, ineffectual, useless. Thoughts of doubt and fear can never accomplish anything. They always lead to failure. Purpose, energy, power to do, and all strong thoughts cease when doubt and fear creep in. The will to do springs from the knowledge that we can do. He who has conquered doubt and fear has conquered failure.”

- Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey

* * *

Lia heard another kick, then the gasp of pain from Colvin’s lips. In her mind, the screams of dead mastons swarmed the grove. Despite the fury of feelings, she recalled something Colvin had told her – that mastons were being murdered, that Demont was fighting to change that. The decisive moment was nearly there – the slaughter at Winterrowd that Maderos had predicted. If he was going to survive the battlefield slaughter, it would be because of her. She knew it instinctively. Perhaps her knowledge of healing would save his life. Perhaps just being nearby to drag his body from the field would be enough. But if Colvin were to die, it would not be in the Bearden Muir. It would be at Winterrowd.

Unclenching her fingers from the stallion’s mane, she turned to the sheriff’s men. Every feeling in her heart throbbed with passion and determination. She would see him to Winterrowd. She would fulfill her promise.

“Let him alone!” she screamed at them. With every spark of thought, she willed them to stop hurting him. She did not wait to be obeyed. Rushing forward, she thrust herself on Colvin’s crumpled body, shielding it with her own. His face was bloody, his cheeks quivering with pain.

Gazing up defiantly at the soldiers, she saw shock in their eyes. One stepped back.

“Just a wretched,” one of them said, his eyes scrunching.

“I said leave him alone!” she screamed again, looking directly at that man, lifting herself higher. “Do not touch him. Do not kick him. Lower your swords, he is not fighting you.” There was hesitation, two of them shook their heads, as if in a fog. “Put them down!” she ordered.

Two of them obeyed, the blades thudding in the mud. The third stepped further back, holding the sword up as if to protect himself from her.

Branches crackled and more horsemen arrived, Almaguer leading them. His eyes found hers and held them steadfastly. Her courage began to melt. There was something in his eyes – a look – a fearful look. Her teeth began to chatter.

Colvin clutched her hand. “Do not fear him,” he whispered hoarsely.

Almaguer dismounted his bloodied stallion. Lia felt as if she were surrounded by things she could not see. Invisible muzzles poking at her back, her arms. Sniffing at Colvin and his wet wounds. Her teeth chattered even more.

One of the three soldiers who had beaten Colvin, the one still holding his sword, waggled it at her. “She…she…Almaguer…”

“Say nothing,” Almaguer interrupted. “She is powerful because of who she is. She is Demont’s spawn. But still, only a wretched. She does not know what she is doing or how.”

Lia looked down at Colvin’s face. His eyes fixed into hers. “Do not fear him,” he whispered.

“How?” she whispered back, choking down a sob. Every part of her wanted to flee, to hide from this man whose eyes glowed silver in the dark. The feeling of safety was gone. The calm feeling from the night before shredded before the onslaught, leaving only threads.

“Muirwood,” he whispered, hunching as another spasm of pain tore through him. He squeezed her hand so hard it hurt. “Think on Muirwood.”

“Yes, think on Muirwood,” Almaguer said with a bite in his voice, for he was close enough now to have heard. “Think on it, my dear, and imagine every stone broken down. Every window dashed in. The treasures spoiled. The tomes melted for jewelry. Tapestries ripped from the hanging poles and torched. Think on that, child, and know that you caused it. The Aldermaston’s head on a spike at the gate. All because of you. Yes, think on that.”

His words filled her with visions. She could see his words, could see the abbey burning.

Colvin’s hand clenched again. He tried sitting up, tried to speak, but Almaguer smashed the pommel of his sword against his head and he dropped silently.

“No!” Lia screamed.

Almaguer looked at her coldly, then twisted his head. She could see a scar on his cheek from where she’d scratched him. “Dolbreck, Hutton…Manth and Fraire. Bind him in irons and tie him to his horse. I want him delivered to the king’s camp before dawn. I would let you butcher him now, but his Majesty will prefer to do this one himself.” His eyes narrowed with hatred. “Colvin Price, cousin to the king, arrested for high treason. Take him.”

Lia hugged Colvin’s body, shaking her head in disbelief. Almaguer grabbed her arm and yanked, dragging her away from him. Soldiers approached, their expressions grim, and shackled his wrists in iron clamps. One grabbed the stallion, which snorted and resisted, but obeyed when another man seized the reins. Two others hoisted Colvin across the saddle and bound him with strong cords. To her, he looked dead.

Lia tried jerking her arm free, but Almaguer increased his grip with crushing pressure and she nearly shrieked with pain. She tried to speak, but her voice failed. Despair shrouded her, smothering hope.

Jon Hunter!

Almost too late, she remembered him. Where was Jon!

It was as if Almaguer could hear her frantic thoughts. “No one is coming to help you, child. We caught your hunter first and left his body in a ditch. Our hunter is the better shot. He is dead.” A smirk twisted on his mouth. “We made sure of it.”

A feeling of blackness threatened to swallow her whole. Grief filled her nose and mouth. She drowned in it. Four of the sheriff’s men rode away, one holding the stallion’s reins to lead Colvin out of the thicket. The sun sank below the nearby hills, filling the Bearden Muir with shadows. As the light failed, so did her courage.

* * *

After binding Lia’s hands with irons, Almaguer thrust her roughly against the boulder while his men settled in for the night. Darkness descended quickly, but soon a pair of fires crackled and snapped. Horses were unsaddled and they thrashed with weariness and agony. Muddy blankets were spread out, and one of the soldiers set-up a makeshift spit. He had a bow and quiver, and Lia knew he was the one who had killed Jon. His expression was remorseless, and she hated him.

Looking down at the mat of swamp grass, she wondered about Colvin. It was all pointless. It was all in vain. Everything she had tried to do to help him had failed. In the end, the sheriff had captured her, just as Maderos had warned. Her stomach was sick with worry. She thought about escaping, but Almaguer did not lose sight of her, even for a moment. He studied her with an intensity that made her sicker still. He was looking at her in a foul way. He was leering at her.

Even though she could not see them, she knew the smoke shapes were all around her. The Myriad Ones, Colvin had called them. Something awful was going to happen to her. They knew it and were eager to be part of it.