The Ciphers of Muirwood (31 page)

Now, Maia
, she heard whispered in her mind.

Maia’s thoughts reached out to the Leerings that were causing the mist. There were dozens if not hundreds, but now that Lia had touched her with the Gift, she could sense each one of them, understand where they were, how far from each other, and to what purpose they had been carved. With a silent thought of command, she calmed them in unison, and the mists shriveled away into nothingness, dissipated and spent.

The sky was a brilliant blue, and the sun stabbed down at them, having crested the Tor. The air was crisp and cool, and suddenly the birds chirped and trilled and fluttered through the sky. Maia awakened the abbey’s defenses, and the eyes on the Leerings in the gate and on the walls suddenly flared to life, exuding a feeling of danger and foreboding.

Behind them, Maia felt the abbey itself, as if it were a caged lion that suddenly roared. She watched as the faces of her father and Lady Deorwynn blanched with dread. The Medium’s power brooded, churning with violence and rage. The intruders backed away, shielding their faces from the streams of light shining from the abbey walls, which they had not seen in the fog.

Maia’s heart leaped with joy. All the Leerings were acting as one, brought to life by
her
command. The earth shuddered under the strain of so much pent-up power. Maia felt Collier’s hand jerk several times in response to the Medium’s powerful display. If he had not been convinced before, she knew he would be now.

“You have forsaken your maston oaths,” Lia said, marching forward and drawing her gladius. “You have ruled this kingdom with debauchery and evil, and you have slain innocent mastons, whose blood screams out to me for vengeance. I am Lia Demont, and I felled a wicked king on the Medium’s command in my past life. It commands me to tell you thus. Seek no more to persecute our people, else you be destroyed yourself. The cost of your wickedness shall fall upon your own head.” Maia watched as her father cowered in front of Lia, his eyes wide with absolute terror. The others shrank from her as if she were some avenging spirit. “You betrayed your marriage oaths and forsook your true wife and friend. You have chosen to spend your time in the company of harlots and scheming men. In return, your new consort has forsaken you. She despises you and has taken lovers of her own. As a witness to the truth of what I speak, seek the chambers of Lady Deorwynn’s musicians and you will find the evidence written in her own hand. Your chief groomsman is also guilty. Let him dare deny it.” Lia turned her gaze to Kranmir. “You, sir, have forsaken your most solemn oaths sworn in Augustin Abbey. I name you Ely Kranmir and strip you of your chaen and stole. You are unworthy before the Medium, and I rebuke you for the murder of innocent men.” Moving forward, Lia stood majestically over Maia’s cowering father, sword pointed at him. “Cease this evil, or you will be destroyed.”

Maia watched her father’s terror turn into uncontrollable rage. His eyes burned with spite and hatred. His teeth were bared like an animal’s.

“Do not stand there, Carew,” he snarled. “Kill them!”

And with that, he shoved Deorwynn away from him and fled.

As mastons, we must always remember why we are here on this earth during the second life. It is not to be endlessly entertained by minstrels and dancing or to be in constant pursuit of base desires. We are here to be tested, to be tried so that we can receive all the Gifts the Medium has in store for us. Some of these Gifts will be discovered in this life; others will come to us beyond the Apse Veil.

—Richard Syon, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Battle of Muirwood

T
he air rang with the keening sound of blades drawn from scabbards. The first blows connected, and the sound of swords shattering together rang out from beyond the gates as the king’s cohort fled and Lia’s knights pursued, battling through the knights who were brave enough to make a stand to protect their king. Maia strained to keep the protections of the abbey in full force, and the Leerings flared with power, emitting a warning to drive away the unworthy. Her father’s knights nearly trampled each other in their eagerness to escape, but most only found themselves embroiled in the battle just outside the gates.

Jon Tayt thrust a sword into Maia’s hands so she could defend herself and then closed with a knight who charged at her with a naked blade. After blocking the swipe with one axe, the hunter rammed the butt of his other weapon into the man’s stomach, doubling him over. Jon Tayt’s knee came up next, smashing the man’s nose and flipping him backward into the turf.

Maia had not experienced a large battle since her journey through Dahomey and Mon. Surprisingly, she felt a rush of calm despite the utter chaos of the scene around her. The villagers were scattering like leaves, and some members of the king’s Privy Council were taking advantage of the confusion to slip away. The looks of terror and fear in the men’s faces struck her. Crabwell was trying to mount a horse when one of Lia’s Evnissyen yanked him down to the dirt and aimed a gladius at the flesh of his neck. The chancellor quailed in terror and raised his hands in surrender, begging his attacker to take pity. The Evnissyen hauled him up by his collar and dragged him over to the maypole.

“Maia, behind you!”

Maia whirled and saw Captain Carew stealing up on her, sword drawn. She brandished her own sword, bending into a Paeizian stance.

“I am on your side!” Carew insisted, his eyes gleaming with the emotion of the battle. “Come with me to safety.” He beckoned to her urgently.

“I do not trust you,” Maia responded, and flinched as Carew lunged at her. He deflected her blade and grabbed her arm, pulling her off balance. “Sorry, lass, but I—”

He grunted in pain as a blade slid into the gap between her and his chest. Someone had sliced his breast, ripping open his tunic and sending an angry red line of blood down its ripped remains.

“Let go, or you lose your hand next,” Collier warned icily.

Carew did let go, using the hand to stanch the blood from his wound as he spun in another direction, lifting his blade to defend himself. He grimaced with pain and fury.

“I meant not to hurt her,” Carew snarled. “Just to bear her to safety.”

Collier snorted. “She was already safe,” he quipped. “Drop your sword.”

“I will not. I am the king’s champion,” Carew challenged. He went at Collier like a man possessed, his blade flashing in the sunlight. Collier retreated from the ferocity of the attack, whipping his own blade around to block and deflect the whirlwind of blows that came at him. Carew was the king’s captain, the most accomplished swordsman in Comoros.

Maia’s heart cringed with dread as she saw the look of determination on both men’s faces. Neither would yield willingly, she knew.

She watched as Collier continued to give ground. Suddenly he ducked low, twirled, and brought up a dagger with his left hand, jamming it hard into the meat of Carew’s leg. The captain howled with pain. As Collier straightened, he kicked Carew in the jaw, knocking him backward in a daze. The dagger protruded from the leg still, and Collier stood over Carew as he scrambled backward in the dirt.

“Is that really the best you could do?” Collier taunted. Carew thrust a fistful of dirt at Collier’s face, but Maia’s husband nimbly evaded the debris. He dropped low, grabbed the dagger, and dug it in farther before yanking it loose, causing a roar of pain from Carew.

“Drop your blade, or I swear I will take off your hand to get it,” Collier threatened.

Carew’s face twisted with anguish as he opened his palm, letting the blade go. Collier snatched it up.

Jon Tayt, who stood near Maia in a protective stance, sud
denly leaned forward and hurled an axe, which spun end over end and felled a knight charging one of the Evnissyen. The Pry-rian saluted Jon T
ayt with his blade, a sign of respect from one hunter to another.

“Watch Maia,” Collier called to Jon Tayt. “I will fetch her father.” As soon as Jon Tayt nodded, he took off running.

“Do not kill him!” Maia shouted at him. If her father was going to perish, she did not want it to be at her husband’s hands. She knew it would not bode well for the beginning of their marriage, even though her father’s actions had shown he was not worthy of redemption.

He glanced back at her, gave her a look of annoyance, and vanished into the melee.

The battle continued to rage around Maia as her father’s knights closed in combat with Lia’s men. One by one, the Evnissyen disarmed their opponents—she noticed they were fighting to wound or maim, not kill. One by one, the knights’ weapons were taken away, and those who had been disarmed were being herded toward the village green and the maypole. She saw Aldermaston Kranmir was already there, his face chalky white and horror-stricken. So was Crabwell, his elegant clothes now ridiculously spattered with dirt and grass.

Maia’s heart pounded inside her chest as the conflict raged around her. With so much commotion, it was difficult to keep track of the events that were unfolding. Suddenly three knights charged her and Jon Tayt at once. Jon Tayt positioned himself in front of her and howled with fury at the men who surrounded them, using axes in both hands to parry. One of the knights tried to run him through, but Maia deflected the death blow with her sword. Jon Tayt spun low to the ground, using the flat of his axe to break a knee and punch another man’s stomach. One of the knights fled. The other two dragged themselves away.

Moans and cries of pain sounded everywhere. Hearing the Earl of Forshee’s voice, she glanced over to see he was cursing savagely at Dodd. The two were battling each other, an unseasoned younger man versus a much older and more experienced warrior. Her heart seized with panic.

“Jon, you must help Dodd!” she told him.

“I am not leaving you,” he answered hotly. “The boy can handle himself.”

“No, he is too young. He—”

“I trained the lad, by Cheshu!” Jon Tayt said with a laugh. “He fights like an Evnissyen. Watch!”

The earl had a huge two-handed sword, and he swung it down at Dodd with savage fury. The younger man sidestepped the earl and then stomped on his foot, crippling him. The next moment he cracked an elbow against the earl’s cheek, stunning him momentarily. Spitting out another epithet, the older man swung his blade again, limping noticeably, but Dodd blocked the blow with his battle-axe and jabbed the haft into the earl’s throat. Forshee coughed and spluttered, and Dodd wrenched away his weapon and threw him to the ground. The earl tried to crawl away, but Dodd kicked him hard in the ribs and then seized his collar and dragged him toward the maypole.

“Maia! Maia, help me!”

Jon Tayt whirled as Murer rushed up to them, her skirts filthy with dirt, as if she had rolled around and been kicked like a ball. Her tresses were disheveled, some of the pins sticking out awkwardly, and tears ran down her face, trailing makeup and dust. She looked completely unhinged and terrified as she clutched at Maia as if she were her only protection.

“Please! Save me! Someone tried to kill me. Please! I have done nothing! Help me!” She blubbered incoherently, and Maia’s heart softened in pity.

“No one will harm you,” Maia said soothingly, drawing the girl away from the fighting. “Where is your mother?”

“Over there,” bawled Murer, pointing to the maypole. She sobbed bitterly, pressing the back of her hand to her smeared lips. “My Family is done for,” she moaned. “How did that woman know such things about Mother? Was it the Medium that told her?”

“They were true?” Maia asked.

Murer nodded miserably, sniveling. “I warned her about taking lovers. I told her it was foolish, but she was angered by Father’s dalliances. She wanted him to feel the cut.” She broke down sobbing again.

A knight approached them quickly.

“He will kill us!” Murer shrieked in panic. Maia turned and saw the man was a knight of Winterrowd, one of Colvin’s men.

“No,” Maia said soothingly.

The knight bowed to her. “The fight is nearly done. Some of it is spreading to the streets, but we will have it contained swiftly. Lord Colvin asked me to watch over you as well.”

“I have a protector,” Maia said, nodding to Jon Tayt. “But can you take this girl to the maypole, please? She is frightened.”

“Maia, no! Wait!” Murer begged, gripping Maia’s arm. She stared at her imploringly. “You will have everything. I will have nothing. You have already taken the man I love from me. I suppose it is only justice. Please . . . remember me in pity. It was my mother who hated you. I never did. Please do not hate me!”

Maia stared at the girl, her heart brimming with compassion. “I do not hate you, Murer.”

“It is wrong to beg for mercy when I showed you none,” Murer said with a sniffle. She wiped her dripping nose. “I am
sorry
,” she sobbed.

Maia nodded to the knight to take her away and the man obeyed, looking at the weeping Murer as if he had been ordered to fulfill some distasteful but necessary duty.

Jon Tayt frowned at Maia.

“You think I should have been more harsh with her?” Maia asked. The fighting around them had died down, and the prisoners were being escorted to the maypole. The clang of weapons could still be heard in the distance, and there were screams of fright as well.

Jon Tayt pursed his lips. “Ach, I have never seen you be harsh to any creature,” he said with a chuckle. “You have my love and my loyalty, Lady Maia,” he said, tears gathering in his eyes. “Though I suppose that means I must serve the
Mark
after all. A fiendish trap he laid to snare me. Ah well, that is a fine kettle of fish.” He sheathed his axes in his belt and wiped his nose.

“I miss Argus too,” Maia said, putting her hand on his meaty shoulder.

“You
had
to mention the hound,” he chuckled, a tear trickling from his lashes.

“Remember? You once told me a man should only cry if he has lost his mother or his hound.”

He roared with laughter. “Yes, I did say that! Those are the only good reasons to weep, by Cheshu. The death of your mother or the death of your hound. Everything else is a trifle to be endured.”

She hugged him fiercely, feeling the tears fall on her own cheeks. There was a time when weeping had brought her shame. Her father had complimented her as a little child for her lack of tears, so she had thought it was her duty to forbear them. Now she saw that tears were a balm. They were a gift. As she had learned in the tome of Ovidius, tears at times have the weight of speech.

Pulling back, Maia saw Captain Carew writhing in pain near the maypole, gripping his bloodied leg.

“There is a time for war,” Maia said to Jon Tayt. “And a time for healing.”

With the hunter at her side, she went and began binding Carew’s wounds.

Maia’s father had been captured trying to escape Muirwood on horseback. A wall of Evnissyen led by a man named Jouvent had blocked his escape, and as soon as he turned, he found Collier riding hard on his heels. He was brought back to the green on horseback in time to see the rest of his host subdued.

Maia washed her stained hands on a soaked rag as Collier helped her father dismount and brought him to Lia and Colvin at the center of the green.

She handed the rag to one of the nearby villagers and approached to see what would happen. Her father’s gaudy hat had been lost during the commotion, and his hair looked salty. He wrung his hands in consternation, as if he could not understand the turn of events that had left him a prisoner in his own kingdom.

“What are you going to do?” he demanded of Lia, his voice betraying a slight quiver of fear. His gaze shifted to Sabine, his lips twisting with suppressed emotion. “You have your victory, Sabine. Will you kill me? Will you murder an anointed king?”