The Banished of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  “That would be a sign,” Jon Tayt whispered, “that we should be on our way up the mountain.”

  The storm struck the Watzholt as they reached the other side of the ridge. Fluffy feathers of snow blasted into them, propelled by a howling wind that made each step a struggle. Maia’s fingers and toes felt like ice, and the scarf over her mouth made it difficult to breathe. The drifts were up to their waist and getting deeper.

  The Watzholt range rose up like a ridge of sharp teeth, and while they were only seeking to pass between the crevices, it was still high and the air thin.

  “I know these mountains!” Jon Tayt shouted over the wind. “There is a village on the other side, but it is far. We may freeze to death before we get there!”

  Maia shivered with the cold, wishing there were a Leering she could use to summon heat.

  “Do we go back?” she shouted at him.

  He shook his head, his coppery beard white with snow, like a grandfather’s. He looked excited, as if the storm pleased him.

  “What do we do then?” she yelled.

  “Build a cave,” he shouted. “Over there, in that drift! Come on!”

  He slogged over to a lumpy portion of the snow and sank down to his knees. He withdrew one of his throwing axes, using the handle and blade like a shovel to dig away the snow. He waved her over and handed another one to her. Maia knelt beside him and began digging too, wondering what madness Jon Tayt was attempting. At least digging was easier than walking in the blizzard, and the work had her heart beating fast.

  “Why do you look as if you are enjoying this?” Maia said through chattering teeth.

  The hunter grinned. “This storm is covering all of our tracks. Even with a hound it would be difficult for them to track us now. Dig!”

  It took hours of shoveling through the packed snowdrift, but they dug a cave into the mountainous pile and then a little chamber higher up. It was not tall enough to stand in, but the walls of snow provided protection from the shearing wind and ice, and Maia’s shivering began to subside.

  Argus whimpered from the cold and Maia pitied the beast, though she wished she had a coat of fur instead of two soggy gowns sticking to her. Her breath was a mist as she let it out, and everything around them was a uniform white. The wind moaned from the tunnel.

  After he had finished packing the snow on the floor, Jon Tayt brought out his pack and fished through it for some food to eat. He looked positively cheery.

  Maia clutched her stomach and dug her hands into her armpits to try and warm them. Her hair was damp, and clumps of ice clung to the tresses. It was still daylight, but it felt like twilight in the cave.

  “Here,” Jon Tayt said, offering her some dried beef wedged in a crust.

  She ate it ravenously, her hunger increased by the effort of digging their shelter. “At least we have enough water,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  He shook his head. “Never eat snow. It will kill you with cold. You are shaking, lass. Here, lay your head against Argus. Keep close to him for warmth.” He brushed his gloved hands together, looking around the shelter with an appraising eye. “Not bad at all. This will do.”

  She chewed through the stiff bread, drank sparingly from her waterskin, and nestled against Argus’s flank as she continued to eat. The bread was a bit hard, and the meat tough and spicy. Jon Tayt munched on a fistful of nuts, then offered some to her. She refused, feeling the fatigue from their efforts settle in on her.

  “Stay awake as long as you can,” he warned, nudging her. “It is dangerous to fall asleep in the snow anyway, but perhaps more so for you. I will keep watch and wake you if you start to act strangely. Hopefully the storm will pass soon.”

  She blinked at him and nodded, pulling her cloak tightly over her and Argus like a blanket. Before long she dozed.

  Maia.

  The voice whispered inside her mind. Her eyes snapped open.

  She was aware, subtly, of a presence deep in her mind. It made her cringe. It was her husband. Her mother’s warning stung her conscience.

  Maia?

  She could sense him. He was warm, fed, and comfortable. How she envied him that. He was in his pavilion again, a warm brazier offering heat. She longed to be there, to feel a fur blanket beneath her and eat warm food.

  Are you cold? You seem like ice. Where are you?

  She could almost smell him. No, she could smell him. She could even smell the wine on his breath. Somehow, her thoughts were entwining with his and she was sharing his sensations.

  I am cold, she thought to him, almost in spite of herself.

  Where are you, Maia?

  She did not want to commune with him, but the warmth was so inviting she could not resist it. He took another swallow of spiced wine and it felt as if it went down her throat instead. It warmed her from the inside.

  Hautland, she found herself thinking. We were caught in a blizzard crossing the Watzholt.

  So we are talking now? I sensed you before, but you did not respond. I can feel the cold. Are you in danger?

  She could feel his warmth and he could feel her chill. It was a strange intimacy, their minds weaving together like this through the Medium. She was grateful for it. Her body stopped trembling.

  She stared at the wall of the snow cave, but in her mind, she saw the interior of his pavilion, looking much as it had the night they had spent together. She flushed with embarrassment.

  I am hunted, she thought back to him. What do you know about the Victus?

  It is a secret order within the Dochte Mandar. They are the ones hunting you. Corriveaux is one of them. My spies watch for them, but they are subtle. What do you know about them, Maia?

  She breathed out slowly. Nothing. I heard they were strong in Hautland.

  Their origin is Naess, but Hautland seems to serve their interests the most. I have heard they torture people for information. Or bend them to their will. Be careful.

  I will. Thank you, Collier.

  Do you need help? She could feel the urgency in his mind, his desire to aid her. I could send a ship for you. Let me help you.

  She realized she would need a ship to reach Naess. There was no way to route by land. She had assumed she would hire passage on a cargo ship bound to the northernmost kingdom. Part of her resisted letting Collier help. Another part of her wanted to confide everything to him and beg his help.

  Please. Let me help you.

  She wriggled under her cloak, uncertainty wrestling inside her. Maybe one thing.

  Yes! Tell me.

  I need a ship to carry us to Naess. I may not . . . return. They may kill me.

  I will not let them, Maia. Trust in that. You need a ship. You will get a ship. I will send the Argiver to Hautland. The captain’s name is Stavanger. He can be in the port city of Rostick in two days. Is that soon enough?

  Maia felt a flush of warmth, of appreciation. Yes. It will take several days for us to cross Hautland. Thank you, Collier.

  She felt his thoughts warm with delight. I wish I could do more. You are very cold. I do not like that. She could feel anger in this thoughts.

  It is just a storm, Collier. I will be all right.

  It reminds me of what I heard about how Lady Shilton treated you. She locked you in a room without a fire. She felt his thoughts begin to blister with heat. I could kill her for all she did to you.

  Maia blinked, surprised. You knew?

  Of course I knew. I have spies in your father’s court. Deorwynn was very vocal in her hatred of you. She gave her mother strict orders to break your will. Yet you did not succumb, not even when they stripped everything from you. Every person who ever mattered to you. Every gown. She could feel the bubbling hate inside him. When you are crowned my queen, you will never wear rags again.

  Maia felt strange, almost giddy. You were watching over me?

 
Much good that did, he returned blackly. Remember, Maia, that it was your father who broke the plight troth between us. You and I were promised as infants. I have always thought of you as my future wife. Together, we will rule all the kingdoms. Believe it. You and I.

  She could feel the ambition in his heart as well. His thoughts were burning with it.

  Thank you for helping me, Collier. I will look for the Argiver in Rostick. She wondered if he might abandon his army to try and join her, but she doubted it. The desire to conquer other lands ran thick in his blood. I learned there is another kishion in your camp. I do not know who it is, but I thought you should know.

  That is truly helpful, thank you. Let me return the favor. You have been traveling awhile now, Maia. You may not have heard the latest news from your father’s court.

  Maia was concerned. What news?

  His thoughts were sardonic and contemptuous. Your father passed a new act. The Act of Submission. Every man, woman, and child must recognize him as the sovereign ruler of Comoros, independent of every other power, including the High Seer. The Aldermaston of Augustin has already sworn it. Do you remember the previous chancellor, Tomas Morton? The one before Crabwell. He was a maston and refused. Well, he was just beheaded in Pent Tower. Your country is in an uproar over it.

  Maia’s heart crushed inside her chest. Her father was breaking every vow. Every covenant.

  No, she thought with dread.

  The Dochte Mandar will unite against him. I tell you, Maia, Comoros will be invaded. If I do not do it, someone else will claim it. Let me claim it for you. You are the rightful queen.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, miserable at the news. No, Collier. No, do not hurt my father. Even now, after everything he had done, she could not bear the thought of losing him or seeing him usurped. As long as he lived, she would hold on to the hope he could change.

  Still, she could not silence the thought that her father might have finally gone mad.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Hautland

  They were trapped in a cocoon of cold. Maia shivered, snuggled her head against Argus’s damp pelt, and tucked in her legs. She could not feel her toes—any of them. Drips of water from the ice plopped in the small pan that Jon Tayt had set out to collect drinking water. She could not remember ever being so miserable and cold, even in the attic room of Lady Shilton’s manor. Her hair was stiff with ice and it crackled as she moved.

  Jon Tayt snored softly, sitting up against the curved wall of the snow cave, his gloved hands resting on his belly. His nose was ruddy, but he had a contented look on his face. His cap was askew on his head, revealing his balding pate through the loose curls of his coppery hair. She stared at him, feeling a mixture of tenderness and humor. He was so unflappable and surly. Without his help, she would not have made it to the mountains bordering Hautland. She suddenly wanted to laugh. All her life she had wanted to travel and visit the other kingdoms, but she had expected to visit them as a princess, not a fugitive.

  An especially loud snore came from his mouth and he startled himself awake. His gray-green eyes blinked open and searched the pure whiteness. Maia tried to hide her smile, but he caught her.

  “Glad to see I amuse you, my lady,” he said gruffly. He shifted in the cave, twisting his shoulders around to loosen them, then flexed his arms and fingers. “Was I snoring?”

  Maia’s smile broadened. “A little.”

  He was abashed. “I fell asleep without watching your rest. At least we did not endanger anyone else. Did you have another dream?”

  She shook her head. “It was too cold to sleep.” During the night, she had not felt the awareness of the Myriad One inside her. Perhaps it did not relish experiencing the human penchant for suffering the elements.

  Jon Tayt bent forward and examined the hole he had carved to get them inside. “It snowed shut. We need more air,” he grumbled. After withdrawing an arrowhead, he jammed it into the snowpack above their heads and knifed it viciously upward a few times. Slush sprinkled down on them and Argus whined, but Jon shushed him. A few more pokes and they both heard the gush of air from above. Jon Tayt stowed the arrow away, then craned his neck at the hole and gazed up.

  “Sky is blue. The storm is over.”

  “Thank Idumea,” Maia said, brushing her arms. She lifted the pan of water and took a small sip. The water was frigid, but it helped soothe her thirst. She offered it to the hunter and then the boarhound, who finished it. Jon Tayt stowed his gear, hefted one axe and handed her another, and they both began chopping their way out of the snow cave.

  As they emerged, Maia gazed in wonder at the crystalline expanse of the snow-clad range before her. It was impressive beyond words, the hulking crags of rock decorated with fresh snow. The air had a bite to it that stung her nose when she breathed, and she gently blew on her hands to try and warm them with her breath.

  “Look there,” Jon Tayt muttered gravely.

  She gazed around the destruction of their cave, but he was directing her gaze elsewhere. While she had been giving the majestic peaks her attention and admiration, Jon Tayt had been examining the ground. Now she could see, plain as day, the trampled ruts of boots. They were everywhere along the pass, cutting a swath from the way they had come and continued down the slope into Hautland.

  “Persistent badgers,” Jon Tayt groused. “They nearly trampled over our camp as well. They were right on top of us without knowing it.” He chuckled darkly. “If one had wandered over here, he would have come crashing through.” He sniffed and pointed. “They are ahead of us now, lass.”

  “Is that a problem or a blessing?” Maia asked.

  “Both. It will be easier to hide our trail by walking over theirs. However, if we keep following their trail, it will lead us to no safe place.” He scouted the area, examining the size of the prints. She watched and waited as he worked to divine the signs. “Ach, at least thirty men. Mayhap forty.” He wiped his nose. “I do not like the odds of that.”

  “At least they are not coming from behind us.”

  He shook his head. “Cannot judge that either, lass. If I were hunting us, and granted not many men are as clever, I would not bring everyone in a mass. I would send a group behind to follow the trail.” He dipped his fingers into a snowy boot print. “These tracks are fresh. They may well double back and catch us in between them.”

  “So going back would be equally dangerous as going forward.”

  “Danger no matter what we do.”

  Maia sighed. “We need to get to the port city of Rostick in two days. There will be a ship waiting for us.”

  “A ship? And how did you conjure that, my lady?” He looked at her skeptically.

  She did not want to explain the nature of her connection with Feint Collier and so she did not. She moved some of her frozen hair out of her face. “Which way do we go?”

  He pointed with the axe down the mountain.

  Huge pine and cedar trees crept up from the lower slope of the Watzholt, and the trail disappeared into it. The trees were blanketed in fresh snow and the branches drooped, but lower down the storm had only brought rain, and the trees were vibrant green and lush.

  “I like not the look of that,” Jon Tayt muttered, standing at the edge of a rock looking down the trail into the maw of the woods. “Good place for a trap. They could see us coming down, but we would not see them until it was too late.” He scratched his neck and gazed at the trail from different vantage points.

  “The woods will provide cover for us as well,” Maia suggested. She wanted a fire to warm her hands and feet. She was still shivering in spite of her many layers. But she had to agree with Jon Tayt—the trees would be an excellent place for their enemies to conceal themselves.

  Jon Tayt shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Best to double back and take another pass down.” They started back up the slope, climbing away from the thinning s
now. Maia despaired ever being warm again. They had not gone far when Argus began to growl and whine, sniffing and roaming around their trail. His ears went up as he stared up the trail.

  “Black luck,” the hunter said. “Trap is closing.” He sniffed the air. “Must be more men following our trail. Better run for the woods then. We must forge our own trail rather than taking this one. It will be easier to hide in the woods. Caught on this slope, we are dead.”

  Maia’s heart began to warm. “All right.”

  They started back down the trail again and diverted from the already plowed path, heading into fresh snow. The way was steep, but the depth of the bank made it easy to sink their boots into it and slog down. Little bricks of ice came loose from their steps and tumbled down the fleecy slope. Argus followed in their wake, a low threatening growl in his throat.

  The sound of a hunting horn filled the air from higher up. Maia looked back and saw men in the gap. The horn blasted again and the noise was joined by the sound of a horn from the woods below.

  “Keep going!” Jon Tayt barked, crashing through the snow to carve a trail. The men were still a way up the mountain behind them, but they were running down the trail they had made, closing the distance quickly.

  “How many!” he asked her.

  Maia looked over her shoulder and saw at least a dozen. She could not see a uniform or insignia. Each was heavily bundled in a fur cloak and hat.

  “Too many,” Maia answered frantically. “Keep running!”

  The snow bucked and heaved as they went down. From the line of trees lower down, she could see men emerging as well. Yet another horn blared, answering the other calls. Dark shapes flitted through the snow farther down, snapping and barking, tethered by leashes. Hunting dogs!

  “Ach,” Jon Tayt swore. He cut a steep path, trying to close the distance to the woods, but Maia could see they were not going to make it. Their pursuers from behind were covering ground faster than she and Tayt could make it, because the snow was already trampled, providing easier footing. Voices could be heard above and below, mixed with the barks of the dogs. Argus growled and began snapping in return, but he was only one and they were many. Horsemen appeared from the trees below them, streaming into the drift to close off their escape. The woods were teeming with men!