The Scourge of Muirwood (25 page)

“Join you?” Lia asked, nearly chuckling with amusement.

“I am serious. Look at you, girl. Mud-spattered and filthy. Weary from marching across this land. Look at the bath. Does it not look inviting? We can talk while you bathe. I promise you that I will not look. At least we can discuss the terms of your surrender? There are privileges you can barter for. Come, Lia. Take off your cloak.”

She stared him in the face. Her voice was low and full of hatred. “Is this how you wooed Reome?”

There was dark fire in Dieyre’s eyes. She had no idea how much he had been drinking the cider. “Smell as a pig if you wish,” he replied blandly. “I do not have much time with you, so I best dash all your hopes quickly. This is all part of the Queen Dowager’s plan. Muirwood will fall by Twelfth Night. She is still there, Lia. She is plotting its overthrow. All the pieces were in place when I was sent to Comoros in chains. Do you think I was under guard for long?” He stepped closer to her, his eyes having lost all their acidic humor. “There is a traitor at the Abbey, Lia. The Aldermaston will be betrayed and he will be killed. Demont is already dead. Poisoned, actually. Yes, I know it for a fact. The Aldermaston will take the blame for the earl’s murder as well as the king’s murder. Another Aldermaston stands ready to fill the void. It all happens by Twelfth Night. The Abbeys have fallen, Lia. All the mastons will be killed – except one. Forshee lives. But
only
if I get Marciana. If she vanishes into the woods of Pry-Ree, then Forshee will die. A terrible death, Lia, I assure you. It will make the death of the Demont family seem like a blessing. What is coming to those who do not accept the water rite is really cruel. I submitted myself already. So will you. But we do not just want the water rite for you, Lia. No, you have a special destiny. Do you understand me? Muirwood will fall. The stupid warnings you have been sending about so urgently are a sham. The Blight is coming at Twelfth Night, just as you predicted. But it is the destruction of the mastons. Their power has failed. No one is left who believes that you must be good, and honorable, and self-sacrificing and all that rubbish. I choke on it, Lia.” His face quivered with rage. “I have choked on it since Billerbeck Abbey. That will be the last Abbey to burn.”

“Is that what this is all about?” Lia demanded, stepping closer to him, jutting her chin at him. “You are angry because of what you learned at Billerbeck? That in order to harness the power of the Medium, you had to give up part of yourself? Look at what you have become, Dieyre.” She felt the stirring of the Medium inside her, welling up with words. “You are angry because you cannot be as selfish as you want without feeling guilty. You are angry that Colvin’s sister does not love you willingly because she will not love you for who you really are. All this rage against the unfairness of the world. You…who were born to privileges and wealth. You…who are gifted with the sword and clever with your words. You…who have everything a man could have and yet still is not satisfied. Do you think that gaining Marciana will make you happy? Do you think it will make the anger go away?”

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing coldly.

“Listen to me, Dieyre. The Blight
is
coming by Twelfth Night. It is not because of the water rite. It is not what Pareigis is planning. It is in
consequence
of what she is planning. It is a terrible sickness that will destroy everyone in these lands. Every man, woman, and child. It is truly a Blight and it will come. This is the last chance to escape it. This is the final hour to flee before it is too late.” Lia looked at him desperately, trying to make him see the urgency in her eyes.

His expression was flat, full of skepticism. “How can you say that the Medium will do that? What right does it have to judge and destroy everyone? Who gave it that right? No, Lia. It is you that are wrong. The Medium is real – I have no doubt of that. But it can be controlled by whichever side forces it to obey.” He stepped closer to her, his expression welling up with hatred. “Up until now, it has been controlled by aging old men who strain to pass their airs! For too long they have scolded and nagged and manipulated everyone into accepting their version of controlling the Medium. You are a wretched, so you do not truly understand. Read the words of ancient Aldermastons who have handed down the secrets and meticulously copied them in tome after tome. But it is a lie, Lia. Anyone can control the Medium. Even a wretched. Even you. The future belongs to the young. It belongs to those with vision and feelings, not to doddering men who lust after children. It ends at Twelfth Night, Lia. Their rule of shame ends. You will see it before you leave Dochte Abbey. I promise you that. You will see the fulfillment of what I have said. You will see that no Medium comes to save you. No Medium will scourge the land. No – what you will see is us
using
the Medium to scourge the land. To purify gold by fire, as it were. You will live to see it, Lia. And when you have, you will join us. For you will not leave this place until you have joined us. And if you will not join us, then you will be killed. Not faint like you did last time.”

Lia felt the shell of doubt and anger encrusting Dieyre. Nothing she could say would change his mind. He was well past hearing her words.

The Medium forced her to speak anyway. She saw it bloom in her mind, the image as vivid as the noonday sun.

“It is you who are wrong, Dieyre,” Lia said, shaking her head. “You will realize it one day when you are the last man alive in all the kingdoms. You will be alone, Dieyre. You will be left all alone. Remember my warning. You are the last man.”

Dieyre snorted contemptuously. “You are raving mad,” he whispered with a chuckle.

Another knock sounded on the door.

He smirked. “That will be the Aldermaston of Dochte to introduce himself.” He reached for the goblet again and took a long, ponderous sip. “When you have finished suffering needlessly, say the word and you will be brought back here. Then maybe you will accept my offer of a bath and a drink.”

Lia did not expect the Aldermaston of Dochte Abbey to seem so young. She had expected someone as old as the Aldermaston of Muirwood – someone with silver hair and a thick full beard. Instead, she found a handsome man with thick walnut hair and only slivers of gray at the edges. He had penetrating hazel eyes and an almost pleasant-looking smile. The ceremonial cassock and robes were black and fringed with gold and fur pelts.

He looked at her, gazing at her with his penetrating eyes, studying her for a moment as if nothing else mattered. The look filled her with ice. She had never met someone whose presence was so powerful with the Medium, it seemed to radiate from him. However, she noticed that it sucked the Medium out of her. It was a strong force, a tidal force that leeched life out of everyone near him. Even the Dochte Mandar were made to seem insignificant in his presence. Lia cowered, struck by his presence as if he were on fire.

“Take her to the dungeon,” he said in a simple, calm voice.

She glanced at Dieyre who smiled at her knowingly and inclined his head, as if providing the offer one last time. She was tempted to stamp on his foot. She would have except for the overwhelming compulsion which tugged at her when the Dochte Mandar entered and seized her arms.

Lia was escorted into the bowels of the fortress, plunging into a lair of darkness lit occasionally by the stain of fire from the serpent-torches. She was weak with hunger and fatigue. Fear gnawed at her incessantly, each step bringing her deeper and deeper into the lair. Her heart struck like a hammer and anvil. There was not even the dregs of the Medium now, except for the Aldermaston’s presence. He radiated it so blindingly, yet it was false. It was an aura that seemed to mask his true nature. She blinked, staring at the trim of his hair, the polish of his rings. His clothes were easily the most expensive she had seen.

Ahead a huge iron-bound door was opened, and that is when she heard the scream. It came from a man in agony. The sound made her shiver and shudder. It was pain – a total abandonment to pain. As the scream ended, she heard the voice sobbing and shouting out in Pry-rian, “By Cheshu, I will kill you all! You will all…” The threat was interrupted with another scream.

It was Martin.

The interior was hazy and wreathed with smoke. She smelled something burning. It was a sharp smell, an unfamiliar smell. Her heart lurched with despair.

The room had three men, two of which were Dochte Mandar. In the center of the room was a Leering. She could not see its face, but she saw its pocked surface glowing red hot. Kneeling before the Leering was Martin, in chains, his hands smoking as they were held and pressed against the burning stone. The Leering was blackened, diseased, constantly burning as the one in the grove she had seen before. The torturers were pressing Martin’s hands against it, and he howled with pain.

Lia shook with rage and she felt the hands tighten around her arms. She tried to quell the Leering with her thoughts, but it would not obey her. She ground her teeth, breathless with agony at seeing him suffer. Her mind went black with fury.

With a quick pull on her arms, she slammed her heel on the foot of the Dochte Mandar holding her. He yelped with pain as she tugged her arm free. With her free hand, she struck the other Dochte Mandar in the throat and he let go as well, gagging at the blow. Lia rushed the two holding Martin and that was when she saw the other man, the third who had been there all along. He clipped her from behind, grabbing her arm and then she found herself face first on the floor, arm yanked back so hard she wailed in pain.

“Thank you, Kishion,” said the Aldermaston. Her cheek scraped against the floor. She could only see the Aldermaston’s fur-lined boots. “Chain her hands and ankles. She is as dangerous as this one. Just as Dieyre warned. Strip her weapons.”

Lia wanted to struggle, but she could not think beyond the excruciating agony happening in her shoulder. The kishion controlled her as the chains were brought. Her boots were removed and her ankles shackled. Her leather bracers were stripped away and replaced by iron locks as well. Lia struggled as they took away her rucksack, her dagger, her gladius, but she could not resist. Someone untied the pouch at her waist and opened it.

“Ah, a Cruciger orb!” the Aldermaston crooned. “How delightful. You are gifted, as we were told. Wonderful. Take the other wretch to his cell. I would speak with her a moment.”

Lia was dumped unceremoniously to the floor, her shoulders still throbbing in agony. She panted, blinking the tears away as Martin was dragged to a door made of iron bars and thrust inside.

“Leave us,” the Aldermaston said pleasantly.

“Be wary,” the others warned. “Be on your guard.”

“The kishion will keep me safe. He is trained to kill mastons and hunters. Even Pry-rian hunters.” The others of the Dochte Mandar abandoned the chamber and the door was shut and locked from without.

Lia scooted away from the Aldermaston as he approached her. The feeling of everything light and good was sucked from her as he approached. The kishion loitered in the shadows, his eyes on her constantly. She glanced about the room, seeing five doors made of bars on five of the six walls and the other one they had entered from made of solid iron. She could see Martin slumped on the floor, trembling and moaning.

“The only reason you would have this,” the Aldermaston said, hefting the orb in his hand. “Is if you could use it. You are strong in the Medium, child. That will serve you well here.”

Lia clenched her jaw, staring at him with fear and loathing.

He crouched down, squatting close to her so his eyes could focus on hers. The feeling of blackness made her dizzy, forced her to tremble and cower. Her arms were heavy with the chains. “I know who you are,” he said. “Who you truly are.”

She swallowed, amazed but wary. “You do?” she asked, wondering if the binding would prevent him from speaking it.

“What did the Aldermaston of Muirwood tell you? Or did he ever tell you?”

Lia was silent, waiting for the other man to speak. She slowly slid away from him, until she felt the cold iron of the door press against her back.

He rose, looming over her. Every feeling of warmth and goodness disappeared from her heart and soul in his presence. Every spark of kindness or love sapped away. She shivered with the feeling, even though the Leering in the room made the dungeon stifling.

“Almaguer recognized you,” he said softly, almost in a kindly tone. There was nothing kindly in the way it made her feel. “I see it before me as well. You are a Demont. Rub away the dirt and grime and you have your grandmother’s features. The slope of your chin. The clever expression when you smile. You are a Demont, child. It is plain for anyone to see.” He stepped closer, squinting at her thoughtfully. “It is a wonder Garen Demont did not recognize you. But then the man has always been self-righteous and blind. Yes, child – you are a Demont. How old did they tell you that you were? When was your name day?”

“I am nearly sixteen,” Lia said, confused and wary.

“No, you are eighteen. At least eighteen. You likely had your first year before you were abandoned at Muirwood. Too little to remember anything of where you came from. Or who your mother was. Your father was a Demont – a warrior of great ability. He was Sevrin Demont’s oldest son and he died with his father at Maseve. When they sought an alliance with the Kings of Pry-Ree, he fell in love with a woman of the court, a lady in waiting to the nobles of Pry-Ree. A lady in waiting who was a hetaera.”