The Blight of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  He shook his head. “She is still so frightened by it. You would make a better teacher than my sister or I. That the power of the Medium is already inside of her, just waiting for its freedom. But the Aldermaston forbids it. He does not want anyone else knowing about you.”

  Lia was grateful to be spared that. Oh, she pitied Ellowyn’s inability to muster anything with the Medium. But considering her advantages – her noble bloodline, her training in languages and tomes, Lia had difficulty rousing much sympathy for the girl.

  They reached the manor and parted ways, Lia waving to him as he entered while she went on to the kitchen. Already the separation from him began to torment her. The memories bonded them together in ways that did not exist with others, not even Sowe. They had shared hunger and thirst, slept on the same prickly ground, witnessed the burning of a grove by a Leering with her face carved in it, buried a man under a pile of stones. They even shared a blood-stained battlefield in common. There were no forced words between them. No inward questioning about what to say next. And he had something he wanted to show her, something written in his tome. She pulled open the kitchen doors, anxious to clean herself before seeing him.

  As she had predicted, the kitchen was in an uproar. The smells struck her like a fist and she realized how starving she was.

  “Another egg, Bryn. Over there…no, over there! Do not be wasteful.” Pasqua massaged her left shoulder, looking out of breath. She glanced over at Lia and shook her head. “Look at you, child. The Aldermaston had you out all night in that storm, did he? Another flood, I suspect? And here we have five hundred loaves baking, just like before.” She smiled, kneading her shoulder. “We have been busy, but Sowe and Bryn are good girls. They were working before I arrived, and I came early. Let me help you wash your hair. It is a thicket as always. You do not want to look like that in front of Colvin and Edmon. Not my girl.”

  Lia almost told her that she had spent the entire night walking the Abbey grounds in the storm with Colvin, who insisted he accompany her in case any of the riders entered the borders of the Abbey grounds. She was so exhausted, she accepted Pasqua’s help because it would bring sleep faster. She hid the Cruciger orb and stowed her hunter gear and garb, while Pasqua went to the changing screen and started fetching warm water from the kettle.

  “You heard about the Queen Dowager from the Aldermaston no doubt,” Pasqua said. “I got a good look at her last night. She is a dangerous one, she is. The cut of her dresses. It is shameful, this being an Abbey. Poor learners will not be able to concentrate at all while she stays. Let me hold up your hair, child. Oh, this is filthy. Like you were crawling through brambles and mud on purpose.” Warm water drenched the crown of her head and dripped brown from the muddy ends. With a cake of soap and a good scouring, Pasqua helped clean her hair and neck and talked about the visitors, the food they would serve, wondering how long they would stay, while Lia listened to the chatter from Sowe and Bryn.

  It was the softness of their voices that attracted her interest. They were trying not to be overheard.

  “I think he will come earlier today,” Bryn said softly. “Earlier than yesterday.”

  “It will likely rain all day. He is bored and likes telling stories.”

  “You know it is more than that. He likes you, Sowe.”

  Sowe was quiet a moment. “He is very kind, but he does not care for me, Bryn. He is just friendly. Lia told me.”

  “That may be what Ciana said, but I have eyes! You should see the way he looks at you. He does not look at me that way. Not at Pasqua.” Their voices fell even softer and Lia strained to hear. “How long was Colvin gone before Edmon even realized it? He enjoys coming here. Being with you.”

  “Being with us,” Sowe corrected. “Besides, he is nearly finished with all his maston training already. He is bored.”

  “I do not think so. And stop pretending you do not care, Sowe. I see the way you look at him when he talks.”

  “You are acting like you are six,” Sowe muttered, quoting one of Lia’s favorite sayings.

  “And you are not acting like you are nearly fifteen. Sowe, this is the year that the older boys start to notice us. Not the ones our age, but the older ones, like Edmon.”

  “And Getman,” Sowe said softly.

  “What I am saying is that you should watch for signs from him. Look for those little clues. He wants to be here in the kitchen instead of in the cloister with Ciana and Ellowyn. That says something. You should see his eyes light up when he makes you laugh. As if he craves it each time.”

  “You laugh at his stories, too!”

  “Of course I do! All I am saying is watch for it. Will he come earlier and earlier each day? How many times will he ask you to dance at Whitsunday? Will we…”

  “He will dance with me once. Just like he said. He will ask us all.”

  Bryn did not sound convinced. “You think so. But I have eyes. Tell me you do not care about him.”

  “I do not care about him…not in that way. He is an earl, Bryn. I am a wretched. I do not love him. I do not love anyone.”

  Lia remembered the quote Colvin had taught her. Someone who says o'er much I love not is in love.

  As the warm water dripped from her chin, her thoughts turned to Colvin and she winced. It was absurd. It was totally, completely absurd. She enjoyed his company. She had shared with him all those experiences that bound them together in mutual affection and caring. But as she had listened to Bryn’s words she began to wonder if she had been blind. Was Colvin telling her things with his eyes that he dared not say with his mouth? There were many hints. He found Ellowyn’s quiet demeanor attractive in a wretched, not a wife. He craved companionship, being equals with a woman. He wanted to spend time with Lia instead. He wanted to meet her later by the laundry to show her something in his tome. Just the thought of it sent a crushing feeling inside her chest. She could not wait until the afternoon.

  * * *

  “You can learn from anyone. Even your enemy.”

  - Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

  Earl of Dieyre

  The rains paused mid-morning, but thick thunderheads shrouded the grounds and smothered sunlight. Thunder rumbled ominously. There was so much commotion in the manor house with the guests and retinue that Lia’s sleep was interrupted many times. Tiredly but with excitement, she made off towards the laundry to get away from the noise. She was surprised to find Colvin already there, twirling a stalk of purple mint, eyeing its color and breathing in its scent. He rose from the bench when she arrived.

  “With the harsh weather, everyone is indoors,” he said with a frown. “Did you sleep?”

  “Not well,” she confessed, summoning the gush of steaming water from the Leering with a thought and set the basket down next to it. “I have always been a light sleeper. The slightest little noise wakes me.”

  “Someone dropped a platter of dishes,” Colvin said. “I tossed after that and finally came here to listen to the rain.”

  Lia withdrew his shirt and dunked it in the trough. She remembered the last time she had washed one of his shirts, and the memory made her swallow against the tingle in her chest. “You seem fascinated by our purple mint. You were roaming in the herb field yesterday.”

  “I intend to have a bush sent to my manor at Forshee. This is a different variety than what grows in my Hundred. Like the apples…there is something unique about Muirwood.”

  Lia scrubbed the shirt against the ribbed stones and smacked it with a cake of scented soap. “Is it much different than Billerbeck Abbey, where you studied?”

  “There is not much to compare,” he said, coming up behind her. He stared at the giant Abbey with a look of awe. “This is the oldest Abbey in the realm. Billerbeck was finished in my grandfather’s time. We do not have the rich history. Each kingdom has an Abbey of prestige. I am proud that ours is so…humble. It is not as ostentatious as Dahomey’s.”

  Lia wrung the s
hirt, rinsed it, and wrung it again. She wanted him to tell her what he had been saving, but decided to draw out the conversation. “To be honest, I do not even know where Dahomey is. The Queen Dowager is from there, but that is all I really know about it. And that the word gargouelle is from their language.”

  “I am proud that you remember the word still. There are dozens of other kingdoms beyond our shores. Hautland. Paeiz. Mon. Dahomey is south but we are separated by the sea. Our two kingdoms have fought for many generations but now is a season of peace because of the old king’s marriage of Pareigis. It is likely the young king will marry her niece to extend the alliance. The marriage negotiations are underway though she is still quite young.”

  Having finished the shirt, she started on her soiled clothes. She thought it interesting he wanted to discuss marriage. “Is it true the Queen Dowager was only fifteen when she married the old king?”

  “That is not an uncommon age for girls to marry.”

  Indeed, Lia thought. She spoke aloud, “Yes, but not to men so old. Or do they? It seems that most of the marriages that I have seen here at Muirwood there is not such an age difference.”

  “You have seen an Abbey marriage?” he challenged in a bemused tone. She could not discern his expression, nor mistake the tone of interest.

  “Inside? No, never. The only time I went inside the Abbey was when I rescued you from the Pilgrim.”

  “You are not allowed inside…”

  “Obviously it was not with anyone’s permission, Colvin. The orb led me there because of the tunnels beneath the grounds. Which is how I found you and made it past the sheriff’s men. There was a room lower down, with rows of benches and a stone table. The Medium was very strong in there.”

  “Speak no more of it,” Colvin said, looking at her with the twist of a smile, as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. “It is forbidden for someone who is not a maston to enter. Or at least someone who is trying to become one.”

  “So you cannot teach me what it meant? Those benches, the table?”

  “Do not ask it of me.”

  “Is that why many girls do not become mastons? Because they marry before they finish their studies?”

  Colvin folded his arms, looking into the distance. “Yes, it happens often. My sister swears she will be a maston before she marries though.”

  Lia squeezed the moisture from the sodden mass of clothes, glanced sidelong at him, and then started cleaning it again. “She chooses this to please you?”

  “Being the sister of an earl, she would be an advantageous match to any man of rank. If something happened to me, she would inherit my earldoms. Many of her suitors seek to hold her hand and shed my blood. But she has told me that she will marry a maston, and I am proud of her decision.”

  Lia laughed softly. “A maston would be less likely to want you dead. Do you have anyone in mind for her?”

  “Why are you curious to know?”

  “Is it Edmon?”

  Colvin smiled at the suggestion and she could see in his eyes that it was well off the mark. “You do not think she would be happy with him, do you?”

  “She is trusting you with her happiness, Colvin. What sort of man would you consider for her then?”

  “She is a second year learner. I have not begun to search in earnest.”

  “That is not what I asked you. What will you look for?”

  He was quiet a moment, his expression grave. “Lia, now is not the right time or…season. The kingdom is on the brink of civil war again. It could arrive at any moment. As long as Demont’s influence holds sway, there will be peace. But these are dangerous times.”

  She continued with the laundry, glancing at his face, at the worry crinkling his eyes. “Tell me more.”

  “I do not wish to frighten you.”

  “I am not frightened, Colvin. The world is so vast – this kingdom is so vast. Help me appreciate some of the burdens you carry. Is it about the Blight? Is that why the season is not right?”

  He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “It is happening throughout the kingdoms, and not just ours. We do not know what shape or form it will take, but the Aldermastons all fear it will be devastating when it comes. A Blight greater than any other that has come before. Often it takes the guise of war, but this time might be different. At least my Aldermaston believes so. The rulers of the kingdoms are not listening to the Aldermastons. It has been many years since a king-maston graced the throne of any kingdom. Even our current king does not have the inclination, the patience, or the humility to study and earn the rank. He wants to be a knight, not a maston. So the threat of the Blight grows and those who lead men because of their birth are blind to it.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “The Leerings are all beginning to fail. And with them the protection they provide. There are students in Billerbeck who cannot command them at all. It requires even more strength of will now, to make one obey. Not here – not in Muirwood. But at other Abbeys, it is different. It is a sign that trouble is coming and devastation awaits us in the future. Rather than acknowledging it, there are many leaders who are focusing on power and land and wealth. The biggest one right now is the Earl of Caspur. Have you heard of him?”

  Lia thought a moment. “I have heard the Aldermaston mention him. He has come here before, I believe, years ago. He is the richest earl, is he not?”

  “And the most arrogant, the most greedy, and the most powerful magnate of the realm. He does not lack for lands, or honor, or wealth, or inheritance, but he is fighting Demont, demanding more grants of land and refusing to reconcile. On his side are the earls of Werrick and Andrel. We hear they are raising an army to fight Demont for custody of the king.” His face twisted with disgust. “They want control of the king to add to their possessions and wealth. They are resentful that the patronage is now under the domain of a man who is honorable and…”

  A voice interrupted from the rain. “Mother of Idumea, Forshee, I cannot believe you are trying to woo the girl with boring political tirade. Let her alone already – you are completely bewildering her!”

  The man behind the voice appeared from the walk, his mantle wet with fresh rain, his hair damp. He was Colvin’s age and bearded around the chin only, his face handsome yet sardonic – as if he found the entire world a jest that only he understood. His hair was long, his tunic studded with twinkling gemstones. A sword was belted at his waist, but it bore no maston symbol.

  On hearing the intruder’s voice, Colvin stiffened, his eyes turning with recognition and shock to the newcomer, who joined them to get out of the rain.

  “I apologize lass, for the Earl of Forshee’s bad manners. Here you are performing labor for wages and he is blabbing on about such idle things. Really, Forshee, you have no common sense. Girls love being flattered, not preached to.”

  Colvin’s jaw tensed with anger. She recognized it also in the pale sheen of his eyes—tightly controlled anger, murderous anger. “What are you doing at Muirwood, Dieyre?”

  “I am with the Queen Dowager, simpleton, obviously. I ride with her to investigate the old king’s murder. I am her protector in these lawless lands.”

  “The old king was killed in a battle, Dieyre. Leading an army of superior forces.”

  “You were there, so you would know. All we have to believe is that mastons never lie.” He chuckled with an edge of mockery in his voice. “I do not need to ask why you are here. Tending Demont’s little kitten? Or did you find some wise speck to scrawl in your tome that you missed in Billerbeck?” He looked down at the tome near where Colvin had sat. His gaze turned to Lia. “We studied together there, lass. We have known each other a great long time and cannot stand each other. I apologize if he is boring you.”

  Lia squeezed the garment hard, wringing it out. For a moment, she could think of nothing to say. Colvin was flustered and angry, his hand slowly clenching, as if he wanted to draw his sword.

  The words came to her with a flash of insight. �
�It was rude of you to interrupt our conversation,” Lia said, looking him in the eye.

  Her bluntness took him aback and he looked at her in surprise, then laughed. “Why, that was my very intent, lass. You picked right up on it.”

  “Is there a reason you are walking the grounds right now?” Lia asked, twisting the clothes again to get the rest of the water out. “In the rain?”

  “I was looking for the Aldermaston’s hunter, actually,” he said, gazing at her with an amused smile. “I was told to look at the laundry, but that is…”

  “Exactly where you found her,” Lia said, standing. “What can I do for you?”

  He looked shocked, then pleased and burst out laughing. “That makes slightly more sense that you should be discussing politics with Forshee instead of haggling a fee for bathing him…or his clothes. I completely misjudged you. Here I thought you were trying to woo a lavender girl, Forshee.”

  Colvin’s eyes went flat with hatred.

  “Easy, Forshee. I am only jesting.”

  “Are you?” Colvin asked softly.

  “When am I not jesting, that is the better question! As if you would ever woo a girl. Well, lass – my pardon for interrupting then. I had heard the hunter was short and bearded. My information was obviously very wrong, because you are quite tall and you do not, in fact, have a beard.”

  The way he said it struck Lia as witty beyond words – more amusing than anything she had heard come out of Edmon’s mouth since he had arrived at the grounds. It took deliberate focus not to startle with laughter. She swallowed. “If you know a cure for being tall, I am glad to hear it,” she said.

  “Another clever retort,” he said, complimenting her. “My, you are a surprise. So…my purpose for trudging out in the muck was to find another way to humiliate and infuriate the Earl of Forshee, which I have mostly succeeded in doing, and my second purpose was to seek the Aldermaston’s hunter and tell you that the Queen Dowager would like to hunt in your grounds later this day. The roads are too wet to ride and Winterrowd is terribly far away, so we are postponing our departure by a day. Shall I advise her of your coming now? Or when you are finished bathing the earl…?” He paused for effect. “the clothes, I mean?”