The Banished of Muirwood (8 page)

“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

T
here 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.

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.”

“My lady, a grey rank is worse than a bear. In Pry-Ree, they are called the Fear Liath. They prey on the mind as well as the flesh. It is possible to cross the pass if you start at sunrise and make it through while there is daylight. The risk is being caught on the other side after dusk. These things move with wicked speed.”

“We know,” Maia said, her heart cringing with the memories.

He stared at her, slack-jawed.

“We faced one already,” Maia said. “It sounds like the best route to avoid the sentries, so we must take it.”

“Lady Maia,” Jon Tayt said, stepping near her. His eyes were earnest. “I have faced nearly every beast or creature that roams the woods. I fear very little, not storms or shadows or even hulking bears. But I do dread the Fear Liath, and I cannot protect you from one. Neither can he.”

“It is as you said, we will travel during the day and cross the mountains before dusk.”

“It is a hard journey, my lady.”

“I am used to hard journeys. That is our road. We must avoid Dahomey’s army.”

An amused smile came over Jon Tayt’s mouth. “Of course. But when I ready for a trip, I plan for the worst. The worst is the Fear Liath, but there are other dangers. In mountains such as these, there are flash storms. It can be sunny and cheerful one moment and then, with no warning, a storm can come in from the other side, dropping a mountain of snow in short order. Or the wind can be especially fierce. Crossing that pass is not the same every day. Any of these hindrances may delay us enough . . .”

“We must take the risk,” Maia said, frowning with determination. She pushed strands of dark damp hair over her ear and folded her arms.

His forehead wrinkled in concern. “If we get caught in the mountains at night, this thing will hunt us and kill us. I would advise that we choose another little-used pass. We may need to fight past sentries, but I would prefer that to the risk of facing a Fear Liath.”

Maia glanced at the kishion. His eyes were wary, but he nodded at her. Strangely, she knew what he was thinking.

“The Fear Liath will not delay us,” Maia said. “I can send it away.”

Jon Tayt sighed. “I advise that we are taking unnecessary risks. But I am only your guide. You pick the trail.”

“Thank you. There may be no need to use my magic at all. We may cross the mountain in daylight and be done with it. We leave in the morning.”

“Very well. Come, Argus.” He clapped his leg and the boarhound rose from Maia’s feet and trotted to his side.

After they left the room, Maia listened to the heavy sound of the hunter’s boot steps move down the hall and then clomp down the steps. As the sounds started to fade, she folded her arms and stared at the kishion.

“Do not harm him when this is done,” she said.

A twitch of a smile came and faded. “I knew you would insist on that,” he replied gruffly, shaking his head. “You trust men too easily.”

She looked him level in the eye. “No, not really. I do not trust that you will not harm him unless you promise me that you will not. Promise me.”

“I make no such promises,” the kishion replied, anger reaching his eyes. “I would kill the dog first. He is the more dangerous of the two.”

She gritted her teeth. “He has been a help to us.”

“I do not argue that. But he knows who you are. He knows much he is
not
saying.”

“Do not harm him, kishion,” she warned.

He took a step closer to her, his face hardening. “I will do what is in your best interest, my lady. Whether or not you see it thus.” His eyes narrowed coldly. “While we are threatening and warning each other, I will add my own. Say nothing to him about me. He made his own choices. I made mine when I agreed to protect you. Now get some rest while you have a bed. We will be sleeping on the ground tomorrow.”

Her heart burned with anger, but she decided not to argue. She did not truly believe she could dismiss him from service. Her father had hired him, and she had the suspicion he would not abandon her willingly. That meant she would have to help Jon Tayt survive the kishion’s blade. She nodded stubbornly and went to the bed. It was small and narrow, like the room, but it had been over a fortnight since she had set sail from Comoros. Sleeping here would be a luxury. Turning away from the kishion, she stared at the window and watched the branches outside sway with the wind. There were so many conflicting priorities in her heart, the mass of them burdened her. Her people were being destroyed by a power they could not see—the Myriad Ones. The King of Dahomey preyed on weaker countries and was obviously preparing to invade her father’s realm. Her protector wanted to kill everyone who was useful to her. The Dochte Mandar hunted her.

Sleep did not come quickly. She worried about all the things she could not control in her life—so much so, her mind felt like bursting. To calm herself, she began to think and remember some of the sayings she had learned from Chancellor Walraven’s tome.

The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions. Why does the eye see a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination does when awake? As every divided kingdom falls, so every mind divided between many studies confounds and saps itself. As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death.

The last saying brought a chill to her heart, along with a memory from when she and the kishion had landed on the beach of the cursed shores.
You will all die in this place. This is the place where death was born.

Why did it feel, in the darkness of the inn, that she had gained an acquaintance with death? That it stalked her, as well as everyone who followed her? They would all die, she suddenly realized. Even the kishion. Because of her.

And then there were the last words from Walraven’s tome. The words that had haunted her since reading them, for they were the last words her friend had written before his death. In her mind’s eye, she could see him sitting in the tower, wearing wooden clogs, his hair disheveled, and his eyes weary and mournful.

While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.

A pebble clacked against the window, waking her.

The room was dark, but the sky was just starting to grow pale. The noise roused the kishion as well.

“The window,” he said warningly. “Lie still.”

He moved from his position in front of the door on cat’s feet and soundlessly slinked to the edge of the window.

Another pebble tapped against the glass.

“Who is it?” Maia whispered. “Can you see?”

The kishion reached out and opened the window, keeping himself in the shadows. The open window brought in a rush of birdsong that whirled and whistled through the morning sky in exuberant noise and variation.

A figure blotted the frame of the window and Feint Collier dismounted the sill and came inside. As soon as he was on his feet, he held both of his hands out and up, showing he was unarmed.

“I know you are behind me, sir,” he said, “with a knife ready to plunge into my back. I swear I climbed that tree not to seduce this woman, but to warn you both that the Dochte Mandar are on their way here and will be barging into the common room before long.” He turned his head slightly, glancing back at the kishion. “Are we friends then? I came to help you, so I would rather not get cut open.”

Maia hurried off the bed. “Thank you for the warning. We will go.”

“I would advise you not to leave from the ground floor. The inn will be surrounded, and while I do not mind tweaking the nose of a man like Corriveaux, he has at least fifty men with him, a solid description of you all, and he seems rather determined. I would advise the window and the roof.”

“Why do you aid us?” the kishion asked curtly.

“Oh, a man has any number of motives.”

The sound of marching steps came from the hallway downstairs.

“What about Jon Tayt?” Maia said. “One of us must warn him.”

“Already done, my lady. I met him as he was leaving the inn to get supplies. I told him where to meet us. Shall we?” He extended his hand to her. There was a mischievous smile on his face, and Maia’s heart hammered in warning. Rather than take his hand, she hurried and stuffed her tattered gown in her pack and quickly grabbed a cluster of grapes from the nearby tray. She felt rested, strengthened, and—once again—panicked.

Once she nodded her readiness, Collier stepped onto the sill and climbed out the window onto the gabled roof. Maia poked her head out into the morning sky. The sun was rising quickly, dispelling the shadows of night. She saw some men holding torches down on the street below. They were spread out across the grounds.

A hand came down from the gables and Collier seized her wrist and helped pull her up to the roof. The kishion followed, moving soundlessly as they scaled the stone shingles of the gables.

“Quietly,” Collier whispered, finger to his mouth. The slope of the roof was steep, but he managed it with grace, then reached down and helped her up the roof as well. His hand was warm in hers, and he gave her a smile.

She did not smile back. She felt like retching. They had been harried from one place to the next. The Dochte Mandar were desperate in their hunt.

“The shingles are made out of stone,” Collier confided in a whisper, “because when part of the mountain crumbles off, it rains stone as well as water. The villagers have made use of what resources they have. Over that way. See how the roof meets the wall of the mountain on that end? We’re going up to the next tier of the town. Then up again to the manor house. That is where Tayt will meet us.”