The Blight of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  With blood pounding in her ears, Lia drew another shaft from her quiver and rushed into the clearing.

  * * *

  “Most people ebb and flow in torment between the fear of death and the hardship of life; they are unwilling to live, and yet they do not know how to die. Rehearse death. To say this is to tell a maston to rehearse his freedom. A person who has learned how to die has unlearned how to be a slave to fear. He is above, or at any rate, beyond the reach of all political powers.”

  - Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR:

  Distant Shores

  The two knights had fallen without a sound. Lia rushed across the clearing to the house in a moment of pure confusion. She heard the clang of metal on metal inside, the grunt of fighting in close quarters. Edmon was outnumbered. She knew they would hack him down because he wore the sword of a maston – just as the sheriff’s men had killed his brother.

  “From the woods, an archer! A Pry-rian!” came a cry of alarm.

  Lia rounded the side of the house into a mass of soldiers, clustered near the door to witness the execution. Lia could tell the leader – his hair was shocked with gray, his beard peppered with black. He had the comfortable poise of a man who was used to killing and butchery. Her next arrow brought him down.

  Complete chaos ensued.

  “Get her! Kill her!”

  “No, it is the Abbey hunter!”

  “Watch her bow!”

  Two of the men broke and ran. The rest raised their swords and rushed at her. Lia sent another man to his death. There was a swarm of black tunics and glinting blades. She had to run – there was no way to stand against so many. What was she thinking, running into the midst of them? All she knew is she had to get to Edmon before they killed him.

  The thud of running boots behind her and she whirled, ready to bring down the other knights she knew would be closing in behind her. Before she loosed the arrow, she recognized Colvin and Dieyre. Behind them, the two sentries at the fringe of the woods were sprawled on the ground. Colvin charged like a crazed wolf, sword high in the hand, his eyes terrible with anger, his face contorted into a snarl.

  “Back to the woods!” he snapped at her as he rushed past, thrusting himself into the midst of the knights, his weapon scything through the mass of bodies. Dieyre’s look was equally fierce, his step just slightly behind as he too charged into the mass of men. Lia backed away from the conflict, the sudden flail of bodies and spatter of blood. For a moment, she watched in horror and awe. Colvin and Dieyre fought like madmen, their blades whipping around so fast and deadly, the surprised knights stumbled back, desperate to save themselves, even though they had more numbers. Another ran and Lia shot him down before he could reach the horses.

  Then she remembered Edmon.

  Colvin and Dieyre’s charge thrust the mass of men away from the dwelling, leaving a gap in the doorway. She nearly tripped over the corpse of the leader, and went inside, blackened with soot smoke. One man was crumpled on the ground, clutching a bleeding wrist. Edmon was face-first on the ground, stunned, a knight above him with a naked sword.

  Lia raised the bow and felled him with an arrow. There were three more men, including the wounded one. As she reached in the quiver, her fingers met nothing. The rest of the arrows were gone, still attached to her saddle. Furious, Lia screamed at them, a cry of rage and hate and drew her dagger and gladius.

  One of the knights thrust his sword down at Edmon’s back. She watched the blade strike the ground. Edmon had twisted away just in time. His boots kicked out at one of the knights, snapping his knee and the man roared with agony.

  The room was so small. Lia ran at them, spinning around once while she ducked and thrust her gladius into the man’s belly. As she untwirled, she deflected a blade with her dagger and pulled her weapon free, loosing a gush of blood. Edmon wrestled with the wounded knight and took away his sword. It was two on two. The knights attacked, slicing at Lia and Edmon, but Lia felt the Medium coursing through her, strengthening her. Blocking the blow, she stepped in, stomping on his foot, crippling him. Catching his sword guard with her gladius and locking it, she thrust the dagger into his navel and jerked the blade, killing him. Edmon’s blade whirled around and the last man sagged to his knees, headless.

  Lia pulled her weapons free and whirled at the creeping movement in the corner of her vision. The knight with the wounded wrist was carefully sneaking towards the door. When their eyes met, he quavered with fear and babbled for mercy in Dahomeyjan.

  She raised her gladius and pointed the blade at him. “Stay there. If you even twitch, I will kill you.”

  Edmon mopped blood from his nose. “Lia!” he gasped with relief. “You speak Dahomeyjan? I cannot believe it! You came…I had almost given up hope…but I did not. I knew the Medium would protect me, as it had during Winterrowd.”

  A body filled the doorway and Lia spun around, ready to fight again, but it was Colvin.

  “I heard your scream,” he gasped to Lia, the sweat from his face mingling with his opponent’s blood. He planted his hand on the doorframe to steady himself. He looked at the shivering knight on the ground, glaring at him.

  “Mercy!” the man squeaked in a trembling tone.

  Lia sheathed her weapons and then picked up her discarded bow. “Did you see your sister?” she asked Colvin. “She is in the woods.”

  He shook his head. “No, I saw you charge. There you were, one little girl charging into the midst of Dahomeyjan knights. Lia, what were you thinking!”

  Edmon stepped forward, breathing heavily. “If she did not, I would be dead right now.”

  “Yes, a great loss,” Dieyre murmured from behind Colvin. He looked sardonic as usual. “Lucky the lass was here to save your neck, York.”

  Edmon stared in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Murdering my allies,” he quipped. “Do not look so shocked. I have my reasons, as you may well suspect. Ah, one of them lived. Are we going to question him or just dispatch him?”

  “Let him go,” Colvin said bluntly. “He is of no use to us.” His eyes narrowed and fastened on Edmon. “Where is Ellowyn?”

  Edmon frowned, crestfallen. “The Pry-rians took her this morning. There is a dock on the other side of those trees. She is gone to Pry-Ree already.”

  * * *

  For a long while after the battle was over and the bodies of the dead were removed, Lia leaned against a tree outside the family hut, breathing deeply, struggling to control her emotions. After Winterrowd, she had been haunted by the images in her mind of the dead. But that was different, since she was the cause of only one of them and that was done at a distance and she did not have to look into the lusterless eyes of her victims. Her feelings were conflicted and raw and she wiped her eyes and nose, trying to subdue her feelings. Martin had warned her that death brought many emotions. There was the thrill of battle, a sense of being aware of every breath and every murmur of sound, of using skills to stay alive. There were sounds and sights that would never be sponged from her memories. Even though the Medium had wanted her to save Edmon, it still shocked her how efficient she had been in killing others and how powerful it made her feel. Part of her had even enjoyed it, and that knowledge made her shrink inside herself and cringe with remorse.

  The remaining horses, save one, were set loose to wander the Bearden Muir. Lia thought with amazement at the short work of the battle. The three of them had killed nearly twenty men. Two had escaped by horseback at the beginning of the battle. The wounded man was let go and he slinked away after Lia had paused to treat his wound, much to Dieyre’s disgust. He was just as well leaving the corpses to litter the grounds, but Colvin had insisted they clear away the dead.

  Colvin found Lia in the woods, his expression grim and hardened, and asked for her help communicating with the mother of the children who gibbered at them in Pry-rian.

  Lia dried her eyes and met with the mother and was able to de
termine much from the woman about the family they had discovered. They lived in the wilderness and her husband rowed a small boat back and forth to Pry-Ree once each day. They ferried goods to trade, occasionally travelers, and did well enough to support themselves year to year. All goods brought in to Bridgestow were taxed by the king, so her husband’s business was small but prosperous as a way of circumventing the taxes. After much hard rowing day after day, the husband had determined their specific location was the shortest distance between Pry-Ree and their kingdom, and thus the least amount of work for a man who earned his living by rowing. He had built the thatched cottage himself in that spot and the pier to dock his boat. He would return by nightfall from having taken Martin and the visitors across the narrow strip of sea that separated the two kingdoms. The family was not involved in the plot to abduct Ellowyn. In fact, they did not know who she was, other than some highborn guest. There were eight men, including Martin. Just enough to fit in the boat for the journey there and back. And because they had not crossed at Bridgestow, the sheriff of the Hundred had not known they were there or when they arrived.

  It was just like Martin, Lia realized. He had planned the escape perfectly, knowing how many men he would need and how to avoid the places where he might be accosted. They had traveled on foot, which slowed their progress. She wondered whether they would have caught up to them if they had not slept during the night.

  “Those soldiers discovered the smoke from our chimney,” the woman explained to Lia. She cuddled with her children, grateful to be alive when so many had been butchered on her doorstep. Her name was Aerona and she had introduced her two oldest daughters, Blodyn and Dilys, and her infant, Cowan. “They arrived without warning, we only had time to hide the children in the loft. I was so frightened. Edmon helped the little ones escape from the thatch, but the knights shoved their way in and saw him in the light. I was so fearful my little ones would be hurt. I speak very little of your language. You speak our tongue very well. What clan are you from?”

  Lia evaded the question by explaining her remarks to the three earls. Nightfall was approaching and Aerona was anxious for the return of her husband.

  Dieyre paced as she listened, absorbing the information. Lia noticed that Marciana glanced at him surreptitiously. All of their horses were saddled, in case they needed to escape quickly. Edmon stood watch.

  Dieyre muttered under his breath. “The last thing Pry-Ree needs is another war. This makes no sense.”

  “Perhaps not to us,” Colvin agreed, “but their motives are different than ours.”

  “They are a rash and faithless people. They got what they wanted without Demont’s help. The heir of Pry-Ree has returned. Now the entire country will burn for it.”

  “Why do you say that?” Edmon asked from the doorway, still watching the woods.

  “Do not be stupid, York. I know that is difficult for you, but try and keep up.”

  Lia bristled at the condescending attitude, but Colvin’s voice was patient. “She is a prize that many will fight over. I am sure a reward will be offered for her return. One large enough to tempt even Pry-rians to betray her. No matter where they keep her, someone will tell. Or someone will try and kill her.” He shook his head and sighed.

  Lia felt a twinge of pity for him, but she had already decided on the best course of action. “That is our advantage,” she offered quietly. “They are not far ahead of us.” She rose and folded her arms. “I will bring her back. I speak Pry-rian. I can cross tomorrow morning after the boatman has rested and find her.”

  Dieyre looked at her, startled. “There are eight soldiers. I know you are clever and brave, but you are still but a girl. Their leader is the master who trained you, if I remember it right. You will be caught.”

  “I have to try,” Lia said.

  Colvin looked up at her, eyes wide with amazement. “You would go?”

  She looked him in the eye and nodded curtly.

  “I was not going to ask that of you. I had already made up my mind to go.”

  “What?” Dieyre said with a choking laugh. “You cannot be serious, Forshee!”

  “Colvin, no!” Marciana said, her face suddenly flaming with worry. “It is a wild country. The Blight is there. I have heard stories. Serpents and other poisonous things. The land cannot be tamed.”

  “Ciana is right,” Dieyre went on. “Brave, yes, but also the height of foolishness. Our kingdom subjugated theirs. They have not forgotten it, you know. When any of our knights fall into their hands, they are murdered cruelly. They hate us, Forshee. I am not sure that word is strong enough to describe their feelings. Even with your personal allegiance to Demont, they would see you as less than a dog in their home country.”

  Lia was not aware of the hatred, but she agreed with Dieyre. “I will go. If there is any way I can bring her back, I will. Catching her now will be easier than it will be later. I can find her with the orb. I can do this alone.”

  Colvin looked at her. “Yes, you can do it. I have no doubt. But I will go with you.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot accept that.”

  Dieyre watched them with fascination. “He is considering it. I cannot believe it! You are daft! This is as close to Pry-Ree as I would ever dare go without ten thousand soldiers at my back.”

  Colvin rose to his feet, his face flushed with anger. “I know it means little to you, but I swore an oath to protect her. To guard her life with my own. It is my obligation. How can I go back and face Demont? I must do everything in my power to save her, use any means available to me. That is what loyalty means, Dieyre. Loyalty binds me. I must go after her. If Lia can find her, I can help free her.”

  “Colvin,” Marciana said in a pleading voice. “I do not want you to go. Think of the danger. I know you feel your duty here, but please. You are an Earl of the realm. You have duties to Demont. He needs you right now.”

  “Listen to her,” Dieyre said, folding his arms. “You will not last two days in Pry-Ree. They will kill you.” But his expression made it seem that he secretly wanted Colvin to go.

  “I must try,” Colvin said, looking at Marciana. “Edmon can take you to Bridgestow. I will meet you there when this is done. It is a stronghold for Demont. Either way, he needs to know what happened to his niece.” He sighed deeply. “If I am only to survive two days there, then we must go and return that quickly.” He looked into Lia’s eyes hopefully. “Will you take me?”

  Lia wrestled with her feelings. Should she insist on going alone? She knew how stubborn he could be. He had already made up his mind. If anyone could keep him safe in Pry-Ree, she knew that it was her with the orb. Just as she had done before.

  “We had better rest now,” she replied. “We will get little there.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE:

  Blight of Pry-Ree

  The boatman’s name was Pen-Ilyn. He was strong but not as hulking as Lia expected him to be – about the same size and build as Colvin. He was talkative in a way that made her seem as tight-lipped as Sowe. He and his wife shared in tales and business as he rowed, back straight, muscles churning the oars with regular repetition. After learning his family had been attacked by Dahomeyjan knights, he was in no mood to leave them behind, but brought the family on board as he rowed. Better to lose any of the trinkets in the house than to lose any of his precious brood. He spat and cursed the Queen Dowager’s name and her foreign ways.

  Lia and Colvin sat in the prow of the boat as it sliced through the waters towards the distant shore of Pry-Ree. With Pen-Ilyn unable to stop talking, they had no time to speak quietly among themselves. Her rucksack was propped next to her, bulging with food and a blanket. Colvin had purchased clothes from the boatman and looked more like a commoner than a noble from court. He had not shaved in several days, so he wore the beginnings of a beard, reminding her of their trek to Winterrowd. She even studied the puckered scar at his eyebrow and felt the forbidden urge to touch it. Blushing, she looked away.

  Pen-Ilyn turned his h
ead and spoke louder. He had an accent, but he spoke both languages well. “There is a little island called Steep Holm in the waters over yon. Some think it is Pry-rian shores, but it is not. If I am getting weary, or if there is a storm, I shelter there until it passes. If I wanted to, I could row to Pry-Ree and back twice each day. It is not so much as being strong as it is not getting tired. If you keep a steady pull on the oars, it becomes a rhythm, like a flute. I wish I could flute and row at the same time, but I cannot.”

  “If you fluted, papa, who would pull the oars?” asked his oldest daughter, Blodyn.

  “Which is an excellent question. How about you blow the flute for me, lass, and I will do the pulling. Sometimes my girls make the journey with me, if their mother can spare them. I usually only make one trip each day. There are folk who know the Bridgestow road and they know where I am. The sheriff calls now and then, but he thinks I am fishing. Even though I do not have any nets. I could buy some nets. I wonder if the fishing is any better?”

  Lia looked at Colvin who looked as if he had a headache from the constant talking.

  “Where are we going?” Lia asked. “Is there a town?”

  “I cannot say with any certainty which direction they were off to, but the hamlet across the water is called Enarth. The larger town is Caerdeth. It is the port that trades with Bridgestow. There is a garrison castle where the sheriff lives. He stays indoors mostly because he fears an arrow lodging in his neck. That happens sometimes in Pry-Ree. Maybe they went to the castle first. It is not a far walk from Enarth.”

  Colvin smirked. She doubted Martin would take Ellowyn to one of the king’s castles in Pry-Ree. Pen-Ilyn talked more about flutes, the wool trade, tax collectors, sheriffs, the price of Muirwood cider, fishing, storms, as well as family members. Before long, Lia’s mind wandered back on the morning as they departed. The images of the moment were still fresh in her mind, her feelings powerful. Marciana clutching Colvin in a tight hug, tears running down her cheeks as she said goodbye. She had received a hug herself that nearly choked her with intensity and a whispered, “Do not let anything happen to him!” Edmon was not his usual self. The acid tongue of Dieyre had frightened away his amiable nature. Edmon stood resolutely on the shore, promising Colvin he would see his sister safely to Bridgestow. As they left, Marciana crying on Edmon’s shoulder, Dieyre regarding them with a mixture of odd sympathy and jealousy. He waved to Colvin, offering thinly veiled advice on how to stay warm at night. Lia blushed with rage, but she held her tongue, recollecting just how tactless Dieyre was. Lia watched them mount horses as the oars dipped into the choppy water, saw them pose near the shoreline and wave. Edmon would return with fresh mounts and men from Bridgestow and await their return after Marciana was safe away.