The Banished of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  Maia stared at him, wondering how much she should trust him. He was Pry-rian, so he did not share all the political machinations of the Dahomeyjans, whom she knew very well not to trust. He had aided in her escape from Corriveaux’s men, and in so doing had probably become an outlaw himself.

  “I cannot help you truly,” he said, “if you keep secrets from me. Let me start with what I already know . . . what I wheedled out of your protector. If he did not think I could be trusted, I doubt I would have woken up, if you get my meaning. He said something about a lost abbey you found in the cursed woods on the other side of the mountains. You were passengers aboard the Blessing of Burntisland, which if you ask me, is a strange name for a ship. Your father’s escort is dead or, ahem, murdered. The Dochte Mandar have captured your ship, so you will not be sailing back the way you came. What did you come to Dahomey to find?”

  Maia continued to stroke the boarhound as the hunter spoke. She realized, of course, that the kishion would probably try to kill the hunter. He knew too much. But he had forsaken his quiet trading village in the mountains to help her, and she would do everything in her power to save him from the kishion’s blade. She stared at his coppery hair and felt that uneasiness stir inside her again, warning her that she was about to be foolish.

  “When my father cast the Dochte Mandar out of our realm,” Maia began slowly, continuing to pet the animal, “our people began to suffer from a variety of strange behaviors. A cycle of . . . viciousness. It was not the same as the Blight that pummeled our ancestors. Rather than a revolt of nature, it was a revolt against decency. My father was desperate for answers, so he searched through their tomes—the records of ancient days preserved by the Dochte Mandar.”

  “I thought our forefathers kept the tomes,” Jon Tayt said, wrinkling his nose. “The mastons.”

  “Yes, the maston records go back to the time of the Scourging, when our forefathers sailed away from these shores. The records of the Dochte Mandar describe what happened to this land after the mastons left, when the abbeys had all fallen or been ruined. When the mastons returned and found the Naestors inhabiting the seven kingdoms, they discovered that the Naestors had learned to interpret the tomes of the Dochte Mandar and resurrected some of their beliefs. The Naestors feared the mastons, for their tomes claimed it was they who had summoned the Scourge. These new Dochte Mandar sought a truce with the mastons, allowing them to claim their lost kingdoms. Some of the noble Families were even invited to take up rulership of the various kingdoms, but not of Naess itself. They have guarded their secrets diligently.”

  “What secrets?” Jon Tayt pressed, leaning forward.

  “The secrets of the lost abbey,” Maia answered. “Only the bravest of the Dochte Mandar ventured into the lands south of here to find it.”

  “You mean the ruins of Dochte Abbey?” he asked.

  “No,” Maia replied, shaking her head. “That abbey is no more. Only its bones remain . . . and it will never be rebuilt. I sensed that as soon as our ship drew near. There is a curse on that island because of the innocents who were murdered there.” Maia shuddered as a dark and foreboding feeling settled over her. The evil memories seemed to darken the very air around them. She banished the thoughts from her mind, exerting her will. “Enough of that. I will not speak of it. In the lost abbey, I learned that the answers I seek can be found in Naess. The High Seer of the mastons is there, a woman. I must find her and the records that talk about the Myriad Ones. They are the beings who defeated the mastons a century ago. If I do not hurry, the situation in Comoros will worsen. And my kingdom will not be the only one to fall prey to them.”

  “By Cheshu,” Jon Tayt said, breathing quietly. “You say the High Seer is a woman? The Dochte Mandar forbid women from reading.”

  “I know,” Maia answered. “But that is what I learned. I . . . I can read myself.” She looked down at her lap, feeling a subtle blush rise to her cheeks.

  “And if that were not enough to bind you to a pole and light you on fire,” he said darkly, “the charm you wear around your neck certainly would.” He grunted and shifted to one knee before rising. “As I said, it explains why the Dochte Mandar are hunting you so fiercely. Ach, what a kettle of fish.” He tapped the haft of the axe against his meaty palm. “Let me tell you something you should know.”

  Maia nodded and brushed away one of the mule’s ears that clung to her sleeve.

  “The King of Dahomey, blight the man, is always on the prowl for another war. Rumor has it that he intends to invade Comoros because your father cast out all the Dochte Mandar. He claims his motives are pious, of course, but a wild goose never reared a tame gosling.” He sniffed, spat, and continued. “If he got his hands on you, my lady, he would use you to cause a civil war in Comoros. He has not been king for very long. The man has a reputation of being a notorious rake. He is a seasoned warrior and always has an army in the field to test the boundaries of his neighbors. A greedy little seeder with the ambition to rule all the kingdoms. I cannot work for a man like that, and I have refused his offers to do so. His lot are insufferable, and I stopped caring long ago how much he is willing to offer me—some men cannot be bought for coin when the cause is wrong.” He wiped his nose. “Not that I throw away coins, mind you, but that man is greedy, ambitious, and dishonest. He’s no maston. What I am trying to say, Lady Maia, is you have trouble coming behind you as well as trouble in front of you. Our best hope is to get some supplies in the little town down the mountain and then avoid as many other towns and villages as we can and cross over to Mon.” He looked at her and growled stiffly, “Unless they are hunting you there as well?”

  She shook her head. “Your plan sounds reasonable, Jon Tayt. How far is the nearest town again?”

  “Before dusk if we stop yammering and start walking.” Argus lifted his head, ears suddenly pointed straight up, and a growl eased from his throat.

  “Ah, your protector is back,” he quipped. Hunched over, he maneuvered to the edge of the cave and exited into the sunlight. Maia found her sack and quickly slung it around her shoulders and edged her way out as well, the boarhound trotting ahead of her.

  The kishion glowered at her as she emerged.

  “I slept overlong,” she apologized. Some of her strength had returned, and she felt light-headed with hunger.

  “Some sleep while others kill,” he said with a savage frown on his face. Her mood darkened in the face of his wrath. “They have no more hunters following us, you can be assured of that. I got as many of them as I could in the dark, but in the daylight even a blind man could follow our trail. We must go.”

  “I am sorry,” Maia said, gripping the kishion’s arm.

  He thrust her away. “Why must I keep repeating this lesson,” he said with a dangerous tone in his voice. He pitched it lower, but he did not seem to care that Jon Tayt could hear him. “You are tenderhearted and it will get you killed. That man hunting us, he does not care how many innocents perish to achieve his aim. He is not bound by the rules of your conscience. Innocent folk will die because they crossed our path. Settle it within yourself, Lady Maia. It is a harsh reality in this world that those in power need no justification and beg no excuses. Even your father is this way.”

  Maia’s heart shriveled with dread at the words. Her heart pounded with fury, and she wanted to force him to deny it. Her father had been a maston. A descendent of the first Family and the ruling houses of Comoros. He would not stoop to murdering his enemies as the rulers of Comoros had done in the days of her ancestors, the days before the mastons fled the realm on ships.

  “I do not. I will condone neither the death of innocent villagers nor the purposeful deaths of my enemies,” Maia said through what felt like chalk in her throat.

  “What would you have me do?” the kishion sneered. “Beg them to stop hunting us? The only reason they stopped hounding our trail was fear. They feared me; they feared the dark. We must use
whatever weapons are available to us. At present, we have little but our ability to flee. Two men against twenty is an unfair fight under any circumstances.” He turned and gave an earnest look to Jon Tayt. “Lead on, hunter. We must not let them overtake us on the trail.”

  The burly hunter sheathed the throwing axe in his belt. “Yes, I am not squeamish about leaving corpses behind us to rot in the woods. Or under rocks.” Maia watched him bend over near the edge of the cave mouth and scatter mule’s ear leaves over a thin, rough cord half hidden by the edge of the stone. She realized he had triggered it to collapse.

  Maia’s feet were aching by the time they reached the end of the mountain trail and arrived at the town of Roc-Adamour. The sun was dipping quickly in the sky, casting a purple shade over the town. Maia stared at the scene before her with wonder and fascination. The town was nothing like she had expected, for it had been built into the side of a craggy cliff face.

  Most of the towns and cities in her kingdom were built on flat ground and overlooked beautiful lands. This was rocky country, thick with dense woods and jagged boulders. There was a luxurious manor house on the top of the craggy mountain and she could only imagine how exquisite the view must be. The town was built lower down the mountain face, a series of tall but narrow buildings with highly slanted roof lines that were connected together, though they came in a variety of sizes and shapes. Lower down, along the flatter lands, was another series of buildings. If Maia had to guess, she thought perhaps several hundred people lived in the town, which Jon Tayt had dubbed Roc-Adamour, or in her language, the Rock of the First Fathers. It was an ancient town by the look of it, but the ruins and rubble were at the fringe of the town and the core of interior buildings was new and maintained.

  There were no walls to fortify the town, but the terrain provided a natural barrier to conflict. Lanterns and torches were already starting to be lit around the settlement, giving it a peaceful air. None of the lights from the manor house at the top of the crest had been lit. It seemed abandoned.

  “Your friends will have trouble finding us here,” Jon Tayt said with a broad grin. “There are many inns and travelers here since this is a major crossroads in the Hundred. More than one road comes in and out, so finding our trail will be tedious. It will buy us time. The big house on the top is one of the king’s manors. That is where the Dochte Mandar will likely go to solicit help. The other places midway up the cliff,” he said, pointing, “those are for the rich traders. We will not be staying there. And over there is a little haunt I know near the edge of the cliffs, hunkered deep down by the woods. Easy to hide, easy to flee. Not many know of it. The people here keep to themselves. Follow me.”

  Maia craned her neck as they entered the town. The streets were crowded, which brought a sensation of safety she had not experienced for some time. She had worried her accent would betray her if she needed to speak Dahomeyjan in their journey. Traveling with Jon Tayt would lessen the chance of discovery because he was likely known by reputation, which would save them from asking questions of strangers who would remember them. She was grateful to have his help and determined to reward him handsomely in some way.

  The kishion did not gawk at the tall, slender structures as she did, and he kept an impassive look on his face as they slipped into the shadows of early nightfall. “Raise your hood,” he ordered sharply.

  She was tempted to defy him, but she obeyed.

  They walked down the main street, ignoring the shopkeepers and traders for the most part, though Jon Tayt did purchase several meat pies to stave off their hunger as they crossed the majority of the town. They finally stopped at a small two-story dwelling, also with a pitched slate roof of heavy stone shingles. It had two wings, and its walls were coated in ivy.

  Jon Tayt entered first, stomping his boots on the rush matting as he entered, and the smell of wine and roasting meat made her mouth water instantly. There was a main hearth, full of lively flames, and the room bustled with patrons who joked and bantered with each other, adding to the lively setting. Stag antlers and even a huge bust of a moose hung from the walls. The main room was narrow but deep, and it appeared as though all the rooms were up the narrow stairs that flanked each wall.

  Maia was startled by the commotion, but it felt pleasant to be around people again, all of them chattering away in another language that was lilting and beautiful to her ears. She could understand what they were saying, felt confident that she could mimic the cadence of their speech if need be. Jon Tayt scouted for an empty table, but without much luck. Argus’s tail wagged vigorously, and he snouted along the ground for fallen bits of food.

  The heat from the fires was starting to suffocate Maia, and she edged her cowl back from her face a bit, feeling the warmth and light play on her skin. She was bone weary from the hard journey that day, but she wanted to enjoy and savor the commotion and companionship, even if she did not wish to be noticed.

  Her eyes gazed around the room, taking in the details, and she felt a small smile threaten her. She indulged in it for just a moment. On each table were little vats of melted cheese, and patrons were dipping hunks of bread into it on small skewers. The smell of the melting cheese was enthralling.

  As she looked from table to table, she noticed one man was sitting alone, his leg propped on another chair in a lanky pose, swirling a goblet near his chin as he watched the patrons of the inn—exactly what she was doing. He was tall and broad with dark hair that went down to his shoulders. When she saw him, her heart took a shiver and a jolt, for he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. It was a dangerous kind of handsome, and he had the smug look of self-assurance that said he knew exactly how others regarded him.

  His gaze met hers, and the swirling cup stopped. The goblet came down on the table with a thud. A bright smile stretched across his face, a look of delight that sent shivers down to Maia’s blistered feet.

  “Tayt!” the man shouted across the room, his voice surpassing the drone of everyone else.

  Jon Tayt whirled at the salute, his eyes narrowing when he saw the man seated at the table by himself. “Ach,” the hunter muttered under his breath. “It had to be him. By Cheshu, why tonight?” he murmured with a groan.

  “Who is that?” Maia asked cautiously as the man sat upright, waving his arm vigorously for them to join him. Her heart skittered with dread.

  “He’s the king’s collier,” Jon Tayt said, defeated. “Not a word. He cannot be trusted.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Roc-Adamour

  Maia had a penchant for being disappointed by handsome men. She was not one who instinctively trusted those who could win someone’s favor with a charming smile or gallant behavior. Those traits, life had taught her, were often wrapped up in shallow-mindedness and the spoiled stubbornness of people who were used to getting their way. Things often came too easily for men and women like that, perhaps because others deferred to beauty too readily. Though it pained her to admit it, her own father had always allowed beauty to get the better of him.

  They approached the man at the table, except for the kishion, who had melted into the crowd without a word. Just she, Argus, and Jon Tayt made their approach, and Maia moved forward warily.

  The man scooted his goblet away and scrutinized them. He gave Maia a cursory look, his eyebrows wrinkling slightly as he took in her disheveled appearance, but he greeted the hunter with enthusiasm.

  “At the end of another mountain expedition by the looks of you,” he drawled, slapping the tabletop good-naturedly. “How many in the party died this time?”

  “Only three or four,” the hunter said blandly. “A boring trip.”

  The man reached out to Argus, but the boarhound growled menacingly, and he withdrew his intent. He stood and bowed with a flourish to Maia. “Feint Collier, at your service.”

  “Faint?” Maia asked with surprise.

  Jon Tayt let out a short, wicked laugh. “A
common mistake, lass. The king’s collier fancies himself to be a swordsman. When you trick your opponent by pretending to strike in one place before quickly switching to another, it is called a feint. As you may guess, he has a reputation for such trickery.”

  The man took the teasing good-naturedly. He indeed wore a blade at his hip, inside a rather battered scabbard. His vest tunic was dusty and frayed, though it was made of supple leather. His shirt was open at the collar. Now that she saw him more closely, she realized he was young—probably around her age.

  “I have, it is true, a reputation with a double meaning,” he said, smiling at Maia with a look of mild annoyance. “Feint Collier, if you please. Tayt calls me Collier, and I call him Tayt. I discovered this little inn through my association with him, my lady. He is an expert in all things culinary, as you can tell plainly from the length of his belt.”

  “It is unfair to tease a man about his appetite,” Jon Tayt said waspishly.

  “As fair as it is to tease a man about his swordsmanship?” Collier answered, quick as a whip. Both men chuckled. “By Cheshu,” he continued with a mocking lilt in his voice, “but you both look hungry. Share my table. There is room for all, even your skulking friend over there. I was bound for Argus tomorrow anyway to find you, Tayt, so I thank you for sparing me the journey.”

  “I never refuse to eat at another man’s expense,” Jon Tayt said and sat down at the table. Argus curled up beneath his chair, wary.

  After Maia had seated herself, Collier followed her example and then leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “Tayt knows everything about everything. I am sure you have realized this already. The best way to care for a horse. The best way to sharpen an axe. How to construct a sturdy building. How to find water where there is none. No man in Dahomey is as prolific in his knowledge of useless things as our friend here.”