by Jeff Wheeler
“Useless?” the hunter said with a chuckle. “I found the Torvian Gap and saved you thirty leagues of riding. How is that useless?”
“The worst part about him,” Collier continued to Maia, ignoring the comment, “is that he cannot hold his tongue. He talks all day long and snores and babbles all night. Even in his sleep he longs to talk. But I do not need to tell that to you. You have clearly endured hardships while roaming the mountains with him, so you must have learned these things for yourself.”
Maia did not like being the focus of attention. This man was clearly trying to engage her in conversation, and it made her uncomfortable. But she knew she would need to speak eventually.
“You are the king’s collier,” Maia said, trying to keep her Dahomeyjan plain. “What is that?”
“He shovels the king’s stables,” Tayt said wryly. “Not even the king’s horses smell like daisies.”
“You are insufferable,” Collier said to Jon Tayt, shaking his head, his brow wrinkling. It smoothed as soon as he shifted his gaze to Maia, regarding her with interest. “My lady, a collier is Master of Horses—the king’s, in my case.”
“And is the Mark here?” Tayt asked dryly.
“You keep calling him that and he will have your head,” Collier said with annoyance. “My master is encamped with the army thirty leagues away.” He saw the look of confusion on Maia’s face and explained. “Tayt calls the King of Dahomey the Mark because he’s rather fond of coins and luxuries—”
“And women,” the hunter interrupted.
Collier waved him down. “Yes, he does have a reputation for that as well. He once promised to pay Tayt a thousand marks to become his hunter, and Tayt refused. He is totally daft, as you already know. Stubborn as an unripe walnut.”
“Ah, but you cannot purchase loyalty,” the hunter said, winning Maia’s respect even more.
Collier waved over a servant, who arrived moments later with a large platter filled, puzzlingly enough, with raw meat and loaves of bread. Once the servant had left the platter on the table, Collier continued. “I am known as the king’s collier because when I was a boy, I shoveled his stables. I learned everything I could about horses and keeping them, in order to be useful. I am entrusted on many errands throughout the realm, which suits my personality, for I truly loathe being in one place for very long. Life in the saddle suits my personality.”
“And with the Mark riding hither and yon with his army all the time,” Jon Tayt said, “he sends Collier to deliver messages and prepare others for his arrival as he goes this way and that. He knows the roads of the kingdom almost as well as I do. The mountain passes . . . passably well. Did you like the play on words?” He chuckled to himself. “He can unshoe or shoe a hoof as well as any blacksmith . . . but not as well as me.”
“Of course, there is only one proper way to shoe a horse!” He rolled his eyes and belted out a laugh.
“One more thing you should know about him,” Jon Tayt said. “He is also called Collier because he is a wretched, and they take on the name of their profession. The old king of Dahomey had quite a brood of children. Most of them born on the right side of the sheets. Save one. Which abbey were you abandoned at?”
That news startled Maia, and she saw the crack in Collier’s mask of frivolity. A darkness seemed to shadow the man’s face. He was staring at her again, his bright blue eyes slightly narrowed, but after a moment of silence, he smiled self-deprecatingly and shrugged. “Lisyeux Abbey. We cannot any of us choose our station in life,” he said. “We only choose what we make of it. I have a good life. I do what I most enjoy. And for the most part, I am unmolested as I ride dangerous roads because thieves and villains think twice when they see me coming. They know I do not fight fair.” His expression turned more thoughtful. He lightly jabbed a finger at her. “I will not hesitate to stab out an eye or cut off a hand when it suits me. Enough about my name and who I am. Who are you, my lady? What Hundred do you hail from?”
Maia was not sure what she wanted to say, but she was certain she could not reveal her true identity to him. She was rocked by the strange contradictions in his life and his demeanor. He was handsome, to be sure, but his agreeableness was clearly not born of rank or station.
“I will also add,” Jon Tayt said, interrupting again, “that Collier is a notorious flirt, so do not answer any of his questions. He is a rogue himself, despite his talk of bandits and thieves. Leave the talking to me.”
“When can we not leave the talking to you?”
“You have done very well for yourself, Collier. Push the tray nearer and I may be more quiet.”
“Wait for the broth and cheese, Tayt.”
“I am happy eating raw meat right now. But here they come with it.” Several of the serving girls arrived, carrying pots and iron stands and small oil lamps. The lamps were positioned beneath the pots in the iron stands so their flames would heat the bottoms. Maia had never seen such a setup before and she watched curiously as the cheese and broth began to seethe again.
Tayt skewered several pieces of meat with thin forks and then dipped them into the pot. He asked the serving girl for a tray of vegetables and pulled out the skewers a moment later. The meat had been cooked in the broth, and Jon Tayt offered a steaming portion of it to her. He himself used the skewers to eat, pulling a strand of meat off with his teeth.
“This little place has the best broth and cheese,” Tayt said to Maia. “The recipe is Pry-rian. I taught it to them.”
“Naturally, you taught it to them,” Collier said with an exasperated look.
“The quality of an inn is not determined by how many fleas infest the pallets. It is judged by the food.” Tayt grabbed a hunk of bread from the table and dunked it deep into the bubbling cheese.
“Your friend will not join us?” Collier asked in a low voice.
Tayt glanced over his shoulder, and they both saw the kishion standing at the counter with a cup of ale or some other drink, sipping it slowly.
“He is the sullen type and does not enjoy jovial company. Never disturb a man in his humors. Try the cheese,” he offered to Maia, ripping off another hunk of bread and dipping it into the molten cheese. It was pale yellow with a brownish powder floating on the top. Maia mimicked his action and dipped some bread in. It was hot enough to burn her tongue, but the flavors made her start with surprise. It was delicious! She was uncomfortable eating with the stranger, who seemed to be watching her very closely.
“Ah, she likes it,” Collier said with a grin. “Are you as quiet as your friend at the counter, my lady? What is your—”
“You said the Mark’s army is thirty leagues away,” Tayt interrupted. A flash of anger came in Collier’s eyes. “Is he bound for Roc-Adamour? I noticed the manor house looked dark as we arrived.”
Maia was grateful for Jon Tayt foiling the man’s attempts to draw her into conversation. She felt assured enough to speak to him without giving away too much, but the less he learned about her, the better.
Collier pursed his lips and shook his head. “No. He is not coming here. As I said, I was planning to ride to Argus to see you. You said you would not work for the Mark even if he paid you ten thousand. What about twenty-five?”
“Twenty-five marks?” Tayt asked incredulously.
“Twenty-five thousand,” Collier said. “You could almost buy your own Hundred for that. Perhaps you want a title to go with it? The king’s sheriff?”
The hunter dabbed the bread with cheese and stuffed the piece in his mouth. He brushed his hands together and wiped crumbs from his tangled beard. “The more he offers me, the less I trust him. I am not worth even five hundred marks. No.”
Collier nodded in satisfaction. “I told him as much.” He turned to Maia again, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “If I ask you about the weather in the mountains, are you permitted to speak? Or will Tayt interrupt me again?”
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nbsp; “It was quite windy,” Maia replied, a small smile dimpling her mouth. Despite herself, she was a little flattered by the persistence of his attentions. But she was equally resolved to limit her interactions with him.
“She speaks!” Collier said with a laugh, clapping his hands.
“I will not serve that man,” Tayt said, lifting another skewer from the pot of seething broth. He mumbled with delight as the hot meat burned his tongue; he was clearly savoring it. “Tell him no amount of coin will seduce me.”
“He is quite determined to remain poor,” Collier said to Maia. “Yet I respect him for it. You cannot buy integrity, as the mastons say. No man can hold his virtue too dear, for it is the only thing whose value will ever increase with its cost. Our integrity is never worth so much as when we have parted with our all to keep it.” He grinned. “I memorized that one, though I am not a maston myself.”
Maia nodded, studying his face, saying nothing. She noticed a little scar on his left cheek, just under his eye, that could only be seen up close. His eyes were so blue, it was like looking into the sky. She squelched the curious feelings this observation aroused, knowing they would soon be on their way and she would never meet this man again. Feint Collier, a wretched of Dahomey. It was a rare thing to abandon a child in her kingdom. If a child were abandoned at an abbey in Comoros, there were any number of families who would step forward and quickly claim it. Her heart went out to him, but she could not allow herself to care. Not when a loose word from her or Jon Tayt could reach the King of Dahomey so quickly.
“Where is the Mark’s army going then?” Jon Tayt asked.
Collier chuckled. “If you will not be part of it, then I certainly should not inform you of the Mark’s intentions. He is mustering soldiers from all the Hundreds and stationing men at all the passes. Anyone seeking to cross will be forbidden to do so. Anyone crossing from the other kingdoms will be detained and questioned. I thought, at least, I should warn you, my erstwhile friend and expert in all things trivial. Do not cross the mountains, Tayt. Stay to the lowlands for now.”
A disgruntled frown came to Jon Tayt’s mouth. “That is my business, leading others across the mountains!”
A wry smile came in return. “I did offer you a sheriffdom, Tayt. You will remember that. Sometimes integrity comes at a steep cost. Enjoy your meal. I will pay the landlord ere I leave. Coin will be scarce for you in the months to come.” His look became serious. “If you change your mind, send word for me at one of the king’s camps. The password is ‘Comoros.’ You saved me two days’ ride, which I thank you for. How is the village named after your dog? Other than windy?” He nodded deferentially to Maia.
“What?” Jon Tayt asked, looking more and more surly as the news sunk in.
“The village. How is Argus doing? How many live up in the mountains these days?”
Maia’s thoughts darkened as she remembered that night—the lightning, the Dochte Mandar, and the fate that had come to the villagers. The taste of the warm cheese turned bitter in her mouth.
“The same as always,” the hunter muttered angrily.
“I thought I saw smoke coming from the mountains earlier today. Was there a fire?”
Maia’s stomach began to clench with dread. Were these questions innocently asked? Collier was an astute man. He had noticed them and observed them before calling them over to his table. He had commented on the kishion’s marked absence from their conversation. Was he a hunter himself?
“Yes, a lightning fire struck last night. Wicked storm blew in over the mountains.”
“From the cursed lands,” Collier said. “Something foul is always coming from there. The Dochte Mandar are up to something. Do you know anything about it?”
Jon Tayt shrugged. “I do not do work for the Dochte Mandar either,” he said firmly. “Every year or so, one of them wanders into Argus and then crosses the mountains, but they never come back.”
Collier frowned, picking from the heel of bread on the tray. “I do not trust the Dochte Mandar,” he said simply, his voice very low. “Maybe King Brannon of Comoros was wise to expel them from the realm.”
Maia focused on chewing a piece of meat, trying to keep any emotions from showing on her face. Collier was watching her closely, she knew, watching for a reaction. She dipped another piece of bread in the flavorful cheese, though the hunger had shriveled in her stomach.
“Well,” Collier said with a breezy voice as he rose. “This inn may have the best supper in Roc-Adamour, but it does not have the best rooms. If they lack space, come to the Vexin Inn up the hill, where I am staying tonight.”
“You do not stay at the mansion?” Jon Tayt asked. “The stables there are spacious. You showed them to me once.”
“No one stays at the manor unless the king is on the way. Even we lowly servants stay farther down the mountain. It was good to see you, Tayt.”
“You as well, Collier, though I have even less reason to favor the Mark now. He just killed my work.”
“You have always managed to fall on your feet, Tayt. My regrets to your purse, but heed my warning. Do not try crossing the mountains. I do not think my voice would lessen any punishment if you were caught flouting this one.” He looked again to Maia, and his swagger softened. “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lady. I only wish I had learned your name.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, nodding to him respectfully. But she did not oblige him.
The Naestors are a cunning people, as I have warned you. Let me paint in your mind something of the visions I have seen of the future. The whispers from the Medium speak softly. The land of the Naestors is a place of dark pools, sheathed in ice and shadows. They are not builders; they are conquerors. When they claimed our lands, they did not understand how to build castles and abbeys out of stone. They did not comprehend the workings of pulleys and levers. They inhabited our coasts first, then our cities. When the first mastons returned, the Naestors organized a council of the wisest Dochte Mandar. In your day, great-granddaughter, the Dochte Mandar advise political rulers. They also proselytize a different doctrine than the mastons’. Some manipulate themselves into positions of great responsibility. This council was the start of all that.
Some of the Dochte Mandar advocated war with the mastons. Others advocated abandoning their spoils completely and retreating to the north. The wisest one prevailed. He was also the most cunning of the Dochte Mandar. His name was Victus. He advised that the mastons be greeted as the true rulers of the lands. Each kingdom was given a Family to rule over it. They sought to learn from us, to discover our secrets of the reading and engraving of tomes, the building of structures, and the carving of Leerings. They would watch us and learn from us. And when they had seen the completion of the first abbey, when they had gleaned the knowledge they craved, they would rise up and seek to destroy us. Not through their own force. But by turning our Families against each other. The Dochte Mandar would be the puppetmasters.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER EIGHT
Escape
There was a soft tap on the door, breaking Maia’s reverie. She had been sitting at the open gabled window of the inn, staring into the night sky and watching the flickering light from lamps and torches throughout the town. Trees crowded the inn, and some of the branches came near enough that they almost touched the walls. She sat with her elbow on the sill, chin resting on her palm.
The knock startled her, and it was only then she realized she was fondling the kystrel, which hung loose over her dress. She quickly plunged the medallion back into her bodice and adjusted it to hide the whorl of shadows painted across her chest. The fabric of the burgundy gown Jon Tayt had given her was warm and comforting. She had stripped away the tattered servant’s gown and washed it in the lukewarm tub of bathwater following her own bath. Her hair was still damp, but it felt so much better to be clean.
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sp; Rising from the window, she walked to the door and raised the latch. The kishion stared at her for a moment, one eyebrow lifting as if he hardly recognized her, and then Jon Tayt followed him inside, Argus trailing after. The boarhound sniffed at her, and she dropped to one knee to caress his muzzle and head.
Jon Tayt shut the door and latched it firmly. The room was too small for so many, but the hunter had said he and Argus would be sleeping in the common room that night. The kishion would keep watch over her as she slept.
“You look a different woman, by Cheshu,” Jon Tayt said, scratching his throat. “I have some healing paste for the scratches and bruises. It will help.”
“Thank you,” Maia replied. She walked back to the window and shut it, resting against the sill. “I am grateful for the bath. It was overdue.”
He glanced at the edge of the tub, where her wet dress was folded. “Ah, and you washed the other dress. Let it hang by the brazier to dry in the night. You will need it again when we try to cross the mountains. Always have layers. In the morning, I will fetch the supplies we need early so we can be on our way. The king’s army may be thirty leagues away, but that is closer than I would like.”
“What do you make of what Collier told us tonight?” Maia asked him, but she included the kishion in her look, seeking his input as well.
“Part threat, part warning,” the hunter said. He sniffed and shrugged. “These mountains are vast, my lady. And I know a few trails that the king knows not. Some are more dangerous than others. I was warning your friend—”
The kishion interrupted. “He knows a pass into Mon that no one takes or guards. There is a grey rank there, he says.”