The Void of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  Suzenne lowered her head and sighed with gratitude. “His army tried to halt the Naestors, but they were outnumbered and overrun. His force has been trapped behind our enemies, but he managed to get some Pry-rian hunters through with a message.”

  “Thank Idumea,” Maia breathed. “If Murer had gotten him alone.”

  Suzenne nodded. “Dodd felt the same way. He felt the temptation . . . the prideful conviction that he could handle her. I am grateful he heeded the Medium’s warning instead. He has been wounded in the fighting with the Naestors, but he promises it is nothing serious.” She screwed up her confidence. “I should not have doubted.”

  “I am relieved.” The two friends embraced again.

  “Have you had any word from Gideon?” Suzenne asked.

  Maia knew that her own dark expression revealed the truth.

  Maia spent the rest of the afternoon walking the abbey grounds, seeking the Medium’s guidance and direction as she went. She wished her grandmother were there so they could walk together as they had in the past. Whenever she thought about Sabine, a gnawing dread filled her stomach. She had lost her parents. Now she was about to lose her grandmother too.

  “What would you have me do?” Maia whispered as she walked through the rows of purple mint, hearing the droning bees among them. Her thoughts were interrupted when she walked past a stranger. Maia returned the nod of the young fellow, who did not appear to realize who she was.

  Wanting to be left alone to her brooding, she retreated to her mother’s garden. After opening the door with the Leering, she shut it behind her and leaned back against it, closing her eyes. There was solitude in this garden, yes, but there were ghosts as well. She remembered seeing the white lily amidst the crown of blue flowers. And the dazzling mix of forget-me-nots summoned Collier’s voice again and again in her mind. She sighed deeply and stepped away from the door so she could walk past the accusing plants and wander the rest of the garden.

  Earlier that afternoon, she had used her Gift of Invocation to study all of the Leerings she could find on the grounds and learn their purposes. Even now, she felt the power of the abbey Leerings pressing at the edge of her awareness. They would obey her in unison, she knew. She could sense the water Leerings that would summon the rivers to flood the lower valleys of Muirwood Hundred in case of emergency. The last time those had been invoked was when Lia had used them to defend the abbey against the Queen Dowager, a hetaera.

  Maia folded her arms tightly around herself, feeling a chill in the shadows of the garden. It was getting late and her stomach growled for supper. She pictured Collett and Thewliss, the two kitchen helpers Aloia and Davi. It had been several days since she had seen them. The little kitchen had become such a tranquil escape for her.

  She heard the squeal from Thewliss’s cart wheels approaching the garden. Had her thoughts summoned the old man? Though he never spoke to her unless asked a direct question, he was a gentle, caring man and a good companion.

  Maia rubbed her arms as she gazed at the trees and plants. The garden was beautiful and peaceful, yet the real world lay outside of it. She felt a little guilty about resting in this place of peace when her people were marching against their enemies. There were battles being fought throughout the realm. She thought about the Earl of Caspur and his valiant efforts to hedge the enemy’s advance and protect those who were fleeing to Muirwood. She thought of Aldermaston Wyrich and his young maston warriors marching south to aid him. How many soldiers were wounded and bleeding? How many would only find sleep in their graves?

  Please, if there is a way to prevent this bloodshed, she thought desperately, pouring out her heart to the unfathomable power of the Medium. Would you have us be their slaves? Would that suffice? They promised they would butcher us, but would it save lives on both sides if we agreed to do their bidding? Is that what you will from me?

  She felt no answer from the Medium. Then a new thought nagged at her mind. Though she had visited every Leering around the grounds, she had not checked the Leerings that were actually hidden within the abbey. There were carvings inside that brought light, prevented plants from wilting, and served other purposes. She knew the story of how the residents of Muirwood had huddled within the abbey as the Queen Dowager began to burn it. Surely her entire kingdom could not fit inside, but was there another Leering that could be invoked to help them? Perhaps one capable of changing the heart of a man born to violence?

  The thought niggled at her. Was such a thing possible? Her mind turned to the kishion, how his heart had softened and changed. What had happened to make it so? Her thoughts continued down this path as the door of the garden opened and Thewliss shuffled inside with his cart. Owen Page followed him inside.

  “What is it?” Maia asked the breathless young man.

  “My lady,” he gasped. “The Aldermaston bade me to find you. A ship has been seen coming up the river!”

  Her heart clenched with dread. “Whose ship?” she asked, the feeling of desolation welling inside her.

  “Not a Naestor ship, ma’am. It is from Dahomey. The hunters sent word by pigeon. They said it is the Argiver. The Aldermaston wanted you to know right away. It will dock after nightfall.”

  Maia’s eyes were wide with relief and a thrilling joy burst in her heart. She blinked away tears and started to tremble in relief and anticipation. “The Argiver! Tell the Aldermaston I will be there shortly. Tell him he is coming. The King of Dahomey is coming to help us!”

  As Owen hurried away, Maia walked over to the bed of forget-me-nots. She plucked one of the tiny flowers and brought it to her nose. Then she pressed her lips against the tiny petals.

  Come to me, my love. I have not forsaken you.

  That young cub of Dahomey burned our ships in the harbor of Comoros. He has deceived my emissaries into thinking he was at war with Paeiz. Some truce has been secretly arranged between their kingdoms, and their combined fleets struck us by surprise. Even now, I see the fires glowing in the harbor. This vicious attack will not go unpunished. The cub will feel the teeth of the hound. After we have destroyed Comoros, we will turn the curse of Dahomey upon the rest of his shores and torch the vineyards of Paeiz. Vengeance will be swift. Even now his ships have departed. I have warned the fleet commanders to watch for them. This was a feint. I have no doubt he will strike next at the heart. And I will relish the news of his death.

  —Corriveaux Tenir, Victus of Dahomey

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Threat

  Maia could hardly contain herself. Collier was sailing upriver to Muirwood on the Argiver. There was no doubt in her mind that he was coming to her as he had promised. Whatever Murer may have done, Maia would pardon and forgive. Everything would be right again so long as she could see him again, hold him again. Her emotions were in such tumult that she did not notice the shadow in the open doorway until the kishion revealed himself by stepping forward. Seeing him in her sanctuary brought a scowl to her face.

  Thewliss had just set his cart by a stone bench and was fetching a hand spade. When he noticed the intruder, his white whiskers tightened into knots of concern, and he gave the kishion a black look.

  “What is it now?” Maia asked, not wanting to spend this moment in his company. She had not seen him since their bleak conversation in her pavilion. She had hoped he would not intrude on the grounds of the abbey.

  “I need to speak with you,” he said. “There is something you must see. Come with me.”

  She felt a wrinkle of concern. “Tell me.”

  “I must show you,” he insisted, extending his hand toward her.

  Thewliss straightened from his crouch, the hand spade still in his grip. He started to edge closer to Maia, and she felt a stab of fear for the old man.

  The kishion cast a fierce frown at Thewliss.

  Feeling a tense pressure in the air, Maia said, “Very well. I will come with you.”

  “My lady,” Thewliss said in a warning voice.

  The kishion moved before Maia cou
ld react. In a moment, he had his arm around the old man’s throat. Thewliss was nothing but bones and wrinkled skin, and he struggled in vain against the stronger man’s iron grip.

  “Let him go!” Maia said angrily. She rushed up and tried wrenching the kishion’s arm free. “I said I would go with you!”

  Thewliss’s head lolled and his eyelids fluttered. His face was turning blue. The kishion dumped the body to the ground. Maia knelt by Thewliss, her heart pounding in her chest.

  “Why did you do that!” Maia managed to choke out as she ruffled the gardener’s white feathery hair.

  “Because he saw me,” the kishion answered. “And I do not want any witnesses.” He unsheathed his dagger, and Maia went cold to her bones.

  She shielded the old man’s body with her own, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She felt dizzy with fear and dread. “No . . . not this man. You will not kill him.”

  The kishion brandished the knife. “You think you can stop me, Maia?” He took a step toward her, looking determined and cruel.

  “Do not do this!” she pleaded, feeling her arms and legs begin to shake. If she threw herself at him, he would only shove her aside. She had no weapon that could hurt him. She tried to focus her thoughts, to summon the Medium to defend her, but fear chased away her composure.

  “If you come with me willingly, I will spare him,” the kishion said in a whisper-like voice. “Walk alongside me. Do not speak to anyone, or they will die too. If you resist, I will murder this man and all his family. Do not think I will not. He is from the kitchen by the manor. There are two little girls who work there as well. I want to talk to you and I want to show you something. Are we agreed, Maia? I trust your word.”

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded, her eyes tracing the sharp edge of the knife he held.

  “Not far. Come.”

  She looked down at Thewliss and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing. There was a little scrape on his cheekbone, but it did not bleed. She touched his white hair softly again—a benediction.

  “I will do as you say. Do not harm anyone. But you have betrayed my trust, kishion. I will not forget this.”

  He gave her a sardonic look. “I believe you.”

  He sheathed his dagger and then quickly unclasped his cloak and put it around her shoulders. He lifted the cowl to cover her hair and face. He gave her a pointed look. “You always did stand out too much,” he said with a strange inflection in his voice. “Come.”

  Taking her arm gently, he escorted her from the garden and marched her across the grounds. There were people everywhere still, roaming the grounds in various directions. A few glanced at them, but the kishion said nothing and took no notice of anyone as he led her toward the Cider Orchard. The sight of the Aldermaston’s manor was almost enough to make her break away and run for freedom. But she knew the kishion would keep his promise of violence. Yes, perhaps he would be captured himself. But he would kill many who were dear to her before he was brought down. Where was Jon Tayt?

  She tried to tame her skittering thoughts, to find some answer to her dilemma. The ground was spongy against her shoes as they crossed the short distance to the grove of apple trees. They plunged into the sturdy rows and quickly left behind those wandering the grounds. The branches and leaves whipped at her cloak as they walked.

  “Where are—”

  “Shhh!” he snapped at her. His grip on her arm tightened as he began to maneuver through the woods. Occasionally he would glance behind, as if he expected to be followed. They reached a spot of ground that was exceptionally muddy and churned and plunged into it. Then the kishion surprised her by coming to an abrupt stop. He turned and hauled her off her feet, then swung her over his shoulder like a bundle.

  She gasped at his rough handling and then again when she realized what he was doing—hiding their trail.

  “Take me to the manor!” she ordered him.

  “I will gag you if I must, Maia. Now be silent. This is to throw off your hunter a bit. Unless you want me to kill him like I did the dog. Not much farther now.”

  He stepped through the muddy spot and then stomped his boots on the other side to dislodge chunks of mud. A moment later he commenced walking again at a brisk pace, taking time to maneuver through the trees at odd angles and change direction several times. Maia felt his shoulder biting into her stomach and clenched her teeth, wanting to pummel his back with her fists. She saw the knife in his belt and was nearly overwhelmed by the desire to risk it all to snatch it.

  When he reached the edge of the Cider Orchard, he set her down and then took her arm and led her away again. They were walking toward the walls of the abbey, the very spot where the sheriff of Mendenhall had taken her months before. It was where the kishion had killed the sheriff and his men. She ducked under a low-hanging branch that clawed at her, and continued to follow him, her stomach wrenching, her heart battering in her chest. A sick feeling wormed through her stomach. He changed his grip from her arm to her hand as he started up a short hill. The woods completely concealed them. She heard a horse nicker as they reached the edge of the wall, and the feeling of dread worsened.

  “Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “Let me go!” She felt an impulse of panic, and in that instant she expected to see Corriveaux appear through the trees ahead, surrounded by Dochte Mandar. Could he be betraying her to the Victus?

  The kishion snorted and did not reply. When he reached the opening in the wall, he held her back for a moment and glanced quickly around the edge to be sure it was safe. He looked back the way they had come and listened in the stillness. She could hear her own breathing from the pace of their hard walk. The only other sound was an animal snorting and pawing at the crackling brush.

  The kishion then pulled her beyond the wall and led her past several thick trees to a large, sturdy horse—the kind a knight would ride into battle. One that would easily hold two. It had a mottled brown coat and specks of hay and straw throughout his mane. The beast snorted again as they approached.

  “Do not try to run from me,” he said, looking her in the eye. “Everyone will be heading for supper soon. I know the grounds and how they are run. It will be a little while before they find our trail, and by then we will be long gone.”

  Her stomach shriveled to the size of a peach pit. “Where?” she insisted.

  “What I have to show you is in Bridgestow,” he answered confidently. “It has been some time since you were there, has it not, Your Majesty? We will be there by dawn if we ride hard tonight.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, struggling to control her emotions, her fear.

  He gave her a knowing look. Then, without letting go of her hand, he brought her closer to the horse, stuck his foot in the stirrups and mounted. Pulling hard, he brought her up on the saddle behind him. “Hold tight.”

  As soon as she clenched his shirt, he kicked the animal’s flanks, and the massive warhorse began to canter through the woods.

  The road to Bridgestow was thick with traffic. Wagons and carts lumbered in either direction along the way—some heading to Muirwood laden with crates of food, some returning from Muirwood empty, to be filled again. Occasionally messenger riders would come from Bridgestow, riding fast and hard. The traffic on the left side of the road would veer away and let them pass. No one came from behind them, though. No one rode as fast as the war steed.

  With the cloak fluttering behind her like a flag, Maia hugged the kishion to keep from tumbling down to the road. The horse was lathered and sweaty, but it was relentless in its mission. It had been bred for stamina and endurance, and the cart horses they passed look like ponies in comparison.

  With the night, some of the carts had pulled off to the side of the road to rest and make camps, but many pressed on through the night regardless of the hour. The sun fell and Maia grew hungry, but they did not stop to eat or drink or rest. The kishion kept a punishing pace, which she knew was not helpful or healthy for the horse. But
it was clear to her that the kishion did not care to spare the beast. He rode hard because he knew they were being pursued. How much of a lead did they have? In her mind, during the darkness of the night, she sent her thoughts toward Jon Tayt and Collier. Bridgestow—he is taking me to Bridgestow. Hurry!

  She strained her ears for the sound of pursuit. But only the thudding of their hooves could be heard. The road was well traveled and it was built for the speed at which they journeyed. As the night stretched on, she had memories of riding in a carriage toward Bridgestow. Sometimes the memories were so vivid, she was afraid she had fallen asleep and the Myriad Ones had forced her to succumb.

  But no, she did not sense the Myriad Ones. Even with the pale moon’s arc in the sky, she did not feel herself to be in danger. There were thousands of glittering stars above, and she stared at them in wonder, amazed by their beauty. Occasionally, a shooting star would sizzle across the horizon, gone before she could blink.

  She calmed her emotions and listened for whispers of insight, for the Medium’s guidance. Jumping off the horse would be foolish. Not only would she likely break her leg, it would not be difficult for the kishion to halt and find her. She clung to him so tightly her fingers and arms hurt, but she endured the pain as she tried to sort through what was happening, why, and what she should do next.

  Time seemed to race as fast as their steed, and soon the sky was brightening. They ascended a long hill, and the horse was struggling, weary and spent from the arduous ride that had lasted through the night. The animal would be in no condition to continue the race much farther. She began to hear birds calling to one another, greeting the day ahead, and small camps of travelers were stirring ashes and coaxing coals back to life for breakfast.