The Scourge of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  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.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR:

  Almaguer’s Revenge

  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.”

  Lia flinched.

  “You know the word, for you are a maston yourself. You have studied the maston lore. She betrayed her lover, as all hetaera betray those they love. She betr
ayed him to his death at Maseve. But she was carrying his child. You. It was in secret, of course. No one was to know that you had been born or when you had been born. You were sent to Muirwood deliberately, child. You were sent there to destroy it.” His smile was cold and cruel. “You are gifted with the Medium. I can sense it in you. You have only begun to learn its full potential. So you see, child – Dochte Abbey welcomed you. The gargouelle let you pass because it recognized the kinship in your blood. You have betrayed the Evnissyen. You have betrayed the Aldermaston of Muirwood. And very soon, you will betray Colvin Price, the man who loves you so fiercely. When you do, you will pass the hetaera test and realize your full power as a daughter of Ereshkigal. You will learn all of our poisons and their many potencies. There are a variety of serpents, after all, each one with venom that can control the thoughts and minds and bodies of those bitten. Your mother killed the Prince of Pry-Ree’s young wife after she birthed her first and only child – Ellowyn. Betrayal is your heritage, child. It is the heritage of all wretcheds and the reason they are not allowed to study.” He laughed softly. “Poor fool, Gideon Penman. By trusting you, he destroys himself.”

  Lia’s stomach swirled with odd, conflicting feelings. He had unleashed a hurricane of doubts against her mind. But she held firm in what she knew to be true. There was some element of truth in his words. She sensed it, but could not discern the specks of gold with all the mud of lies. Instead of trying to, she clamped her mind shut to his ideas. He was trying to poison her thoughts, seed her with doubts so that the Medium would abandon her. By doubting who she really was, he would then manipulate her feelings.

  She remembered her charge.

  “I came here with a message for you,” Lia said, looking up at the void that threatened to swallow her.

  He smiled, seeming impressed with her boldness. “Another warning of the Blight, child? Truly, how tiresome.”

  “It may be tiresome, but it is still true,” she said. “It will strike here first. It will strike the heart of Dochte Abbey. Then it will spread and consume all lands. This is your final warning.”

  The Aldermaston looked at her, amused. “And who told you of this Blight coming? Hmmm?”

  “An Aldermaston,” she replied.

  “From which Abbey? There are many, as you know. I must judge the reliability of your claim, after all. From which Abbey does this warning come?”

  Lia felt a pulse of warning. “I cannot speak it. I will not say it.”

  “Of course not. It is probably a trifling little Abbey hidden in the mountains of Pry-Ree. The warning did not come from Muirwood, the ancient Abbey of your country. It did not come to Dochte of Dahomey. It did not come to Bruge Abbey in Paix. Nor any of the other chief Abbeys. Yes, young Ellowyn gave us the warning when she first arrived. But when pressed as to the facts, she said the warning was given in a language she did not comprehend the nuances of. She was learning a bit of Pry-rian, of course, in her deep studies at Billerbeck. But the Aldermaston spoke the warning to you, and you translated it for her. You, who serve the machinations of Muirwood. You may understand why I am loathe to take your word for it, child. A warning so obviously self-serving. If it is true, then why have not all the other Aldermastons been made aware of it themselves?”

  Lia knew the answer. “Because they are drinking your cider, my lord. The poisoned cider that has been so expensive to buy. Only the most wealthy can afford it.”

  He smiled tautly. “The cider comes from Muirwood, child,” he reminded her.

  “I know what I speak to be the truth. The Medium has confirmed it to me.”

  “Yes,” the Aldermaston nodded sympathetically. He paced slowly within the small confines, his brow gleaming with sweat. “You will find, child, that everything you were taught at Muirwood is a lie. The Medium can make anyone feel anything. Even I can make you believe that what I tell you is true.” The force of feelings slammed against her, causing her emotions to well up so quickly and strongly that tears pricked her eyes and she found herself sobbing uncontrollably. Then she was laughing, hysterically and violently, and she fell against the floor, twitching as the mirth and giddiness swarmed against her. Then sadness – a sadness so deep and terrible she drowned in it. She could hardly breathe through the pain, the pain of a thousand deaths, the pain of a million deaths. Of mothers clasping their dead babes, of girls jilted by love, of widows for husbands. The depth and immensity exploded inside her, blinding her mind to everything but the suffering. Then it was gone, and she found herself huddled on the floor, choking on her tears, clawing at the stone. Her entire body was drenched with sweat.

  Sniffling and still feeling the dregs of the emotions, she did not have strength to raise her head as the kishion hefted her body and dragged her into an open cell. From the slits in her eyes, she saw the Aldermaston leaving, mopping his brow with a silk kerchief.

  As the kishion dumped her on the floor, she proceeded to retch violently, expelling everything within her stomach. The stink was vile and made her thirsty for water. The heat from the Leering had drained her, the millstone of emotions had left little else inside her. As she turned to look for something to drink, the kishion returned with a goblet of cider.

  “Water,” she begged him.

  His eyes were flat and cold and he set the goblet down near her.

  She knew that they would never give her any water. The only thing to drink would be the poisoned cider. She remembered seeing Marciana in the tower, frantic with emotions. She also understood what Dieyre meant about her suffering.

  It was only just beginning.

  * * *

  “All is well and safe. They caught Lia in my chamber in the tower. I knew she would return. I could sense her distrust. They will test her. She will fail. The Aldermaston has told me that she will. She will fail because a maston cannot pass the hetaera test without succumbing to a kystrel. We will leave soon for home. Colvin will take me to Billerbeck Abbey. The thought is already sprouted in his mind. Soon – so very soon.”

  - Ellowyn Demont of Dochte Abbey

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE:

  Ordeal

  There was no way to tell if it were night or day. There was no way to distinguish sun or shadow. The only light was the pitch-soaked torches and the incense braziers. The smoke made her mind cloudy and her skin stink. The goblet lay before her, tempting her. Her tongue was dry, her lips aching. Her throat was on fire with the desire for a drink. She was still weak from retching and they had not brought any food. The kishion stood guard within the shadows, occasionally changing position, pacing like a caged animal. He kept glancing at their cells and then he would smile, as if relishing the opportunity to torture them.

  “Martin?” Lia whispered.

  “Aye, child,” he said, groaning. She heard him shuffle along the floor of his cell.

  “I am sorry,” she said.

  There was no reply.

  The kishion appeared outside her cell. His gaze was full of eagerness. He said nothing, only stared at her. Actually, he leered at her. Prowling the small room, he kept looking over at her, his eyes hungry.

  She met his gaze, refusing to be ashamed by his look. She was angry and struggled to control her fury. At long last, there was a jingle in the lock and then it was opened. The Aldermaston of Dochte entered, but there were guests with him. In his wake came a young man, richly dressed with Dahomeyjan finery. He was tall, well-built, and quite handsome. The young woman holding his arm was Hillel, but he would not have known her true name. Then Dieyre entered followed by Colvin.

  Lia tried to move quickly, but the weight of the iron chains slowed her considerably. She came to the bars and gripped them, hungry to see his face yet tormented with the prospect. Dieyre glanced at her, failing to hide an amused smile, and sauntered around the room, gazing at the torches, nodding to the kishion, and looking rather pleased with himself. She could have strangled him.

  The young man in the finery squinted in the gloom. “Where is he? Whe
re is the man who murdered my father?”

  The Aldermaston motioned with his long arm. “In chains in that cell, my lord of Comoros.”

  “Bring him to me,” the young man said icily. Lia’s heart started to churn with worry.

  The kishion nodded and unlocked the cell door. There was a grunting noise, the sound of a blow and then Martin was thrown in front of the young king.

  His face was puffy and bruised, dark with clotted blood. He trembled, his burned hands pressing against his chest. Martin raised his head to look at the young king, his eyes burning with hate.

  The young king stared back at him, meeting his baleful look with one of his own. “At long last,” he said stiffly. “My father’s murderer.” His face knotted with fury. His hands clenched Hillel’s arm. “Is he the one, my love? Is he the one who abducted you and brought you to Pry-Ree?”

  Hillel looked at Martin shyly, demurely. “Yes.” She turned her face away, as if she could not bear to look at him.

  “Colvin,” the young king said next, looking back at the earl. “You can vouch for his identity? Do you recognize him? Is he the Aldermaston’s hunter? He is the one who led you into the trap?”

  Colvin was also wearing Dahomeyjan finery. She did not recognize his costume, but she would never have mistaken his dark brooding look. He gazed down at Martin pityingly. “His name is Martin. I do know that he served the Aldermaston of Muirwood, but I do not know if he serves him still.”

  The young king released Hillel’s arm and crouched before the prostrate hunter. He seized a thick handful of Martin’s hair and jerked his head up, to meet his own. There was fury in his voice, pure hatred in his eyes. “You murdered my father. It was your arrow by which he was slain. I have seen the arrow, you filthy wretched. You served Prince Alluwyn of Pry-Ree. Then Muirwood. It is all part of the plot to dethrone my father and to prevent me from achieving my inheritance. You will die, dog.” His mouth curled into a grimace of hate. “You will suffer the death of traitors. I avenge him at long last.” He cast away Martin and turned to the Aldermaston. “These grounds are under your authority, my lord. May I beg the use of your gallows for this man? I want him hanged. Now.”