The Blight of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  “If you are Lia’s friend, you cannot offend me,” he replied. “Tell me – what studies do you prefer? Which tomes of the ancients do you scribe?”

  “I have read many, but, I have studied more particularly the tome of Aldermaston Willibald.”

  “The Hodoeporicon?”

  “That is the one.”

  “I found it rather tedious. But there is wisdom in it. I bid you both good day.”

  With that, he gave a graceful nod and started back towards the Abbey. Lia felt a gush of unease, wondering what he thought of them. It was so difficult pretending in front of others, forbidden to reveal that their knowledge of each other went well beyond what anyone expected. No one else knew that Colvin had hid in the Aldermaston’s kitchen except for a few. No one else knew that Lia had stolen the Cruciger orb to find their way through the Bearden Muir to the battleground. No one else knew that she was the one who had toppled the king from his saddle with one of Jon Hunter’s arrows. No one except the Aldermaston and Maderos.

  She watched Colvin pass by when he stopped and turned around. “When you have a moment, Lia, there is a passage from the Tome of Soliven you would be interested in. I thought of you when reading it.”

  A different feeling spread through her stomach – warmth and giddiness. She looked back at him, saw his fingers absently twirling the stem of the purple mint.

  “I have an errand to run for the Aldermaston at the Pilgrim first. When I return, I will find you.”

  He nodded and went back through the trees.

  Duerden let out a pent-up breath. “He is…intimidating. Like the Aldermaston.”

  Lia smiled at the description. “He is just a man, Duerden. Like you will be when you finish learning at the Abbey.”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it, Lia. I doubt it.” His expression soured. “I do not think I will ever be that tall.”

  * * *

  “Just as the lamp burns bright when wick and oil are clean, so is it with our minds. All things can corrupt when minds are prone to evil. A soft word of praise benignly intended can wreak havoc on one whose ears itch to hear it. So often we are pulled and strung along by our feelings, led to this mischief and that because we crave a fleeting emotion. Our simmering anger needs but a nudge to flame up and scald everyone around us. Yet when our thoughts are pure, we become a light by which others learn to read.”

  - Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE:

  The Pilgrim’s Leering

  Colvin’s presence at Muirwood made it difficult to concentrate at times, Lia decided. She wondered if every casual encounter with him would have such a distracting effect on her. It had just happened with Duerden, and Lia wondered how many more times it would occur. There were words they could not say because it would reveal too much knowledge about each other. He had offered to share a passage with her – an invitation to seek him out. What was it that he wanted to tell her? Imagining the possibilities tortured her.

  Normally, Lia enjoyed traveling the tunnels beneath the Abbey grounds. Using a lamp for light, she would make sure the secret entrances were still hidden and free from cave-ins or flooding. She had memorized the passageways and knew all the markers from above ground that would locate them. But at that moment, she did not want to do her duty and seek out Siler at the Pilgrim Inn and relay a message from the Aldermaston. Instead, she longed to be with Colvin, poring over a tome she could not read and learning something clever from him.

  She reached an intersection of tunnels and paused a moment, choosing the shaft that went to the Pilgrim. A web of tunnels crisscrossed beneath the grounds, but they exited in only four places. One was the Pilgrim Inn. Another, Maderos’ lair. The other two went further in opposite directions and exited the grounds in the woods surrounding the Abbey. The tunnels were cold and damp and she had to stoop to avoid the netting of roots that sometimes grasped at her hair. The air was thick with the smell of burning oil and earth.

  She repeated the message again in her mind as she approached the Leering that blocked the way into the Pilgrim’s cellar. She reached out and laid her hand on the stone, bringing to mind the maston word which would open it. Only by speaking it aloud would the Leering door open.

  As soon as her hand touched the rock, the Medium seized her violently.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw him clearly – vividly – could even smell his onion breath. Scarseth. His fingers caressed the stone Leering, his eyes white-silver. Open the door, his thoughts whispered. You must help me. Open it!

  The force of the Medium stunned her. She started to speak the word, then clenched her teeth shut as it started mumbling out of her mouth. Her hand was fastened to the stone, tethered by invisible bands. The weight of the Medium was crushing.

  Say the word! I must speak with you – I know you can hear my thoughts, girl! A year without speech. You can help me! You will help me! Say it!

  The force of his thoughts crammed into her mind. She feared opening the door. She feared seeing him, smelling him. There was a wild, desperate look in his eyes. He would do anything to get his voice back. He would kill her if that would help. Wave on wave of fear and desperation engulfed her. If she opened the door, it would be over. She would die.

  Away from me! she screamed in her mind, shoving back with the force of her will.

  The hold snapped and she fell back on the ground, dropping the lamp and guttering the flame. It was black. Pure black. All around her, she felt the Myriad Ones sniffing at her. The eyes of the Leering burned red, tiny slits in the dark. Warm wet oil oozed across her hand, and she jerked her wrist away from it. Rising, she stared at the pinpricks of red and backed away from the Leering. The Medium was gone, but she could sense part of it howling after her. She clenched the haft of the gladius in her hand, trembling like a leaf in a fierce wind. She gulped down air, trying to master her fear, trying to keep tears from blinding her. A dungeon shaft was not a place to confront Scarseth.

  Where was Martin? As she hurried away from the Leering, she began to worry about him.

  * * *

  She found the Aldermaston coming from the cloister, his head bent in conversation with Prestwich. He looked up at her and then stopped, his look darkening. “What has happened?”

  “Scarseth is in the cellar of the Pilgrim. Right now,” she said, with more firmness in her voice than she felt. “He wears the medallion and used it against me. He tried to force me to open the portal.”

  For a moment, he looked thunderstruck. He glanced towards the Abbey gates, then back at her.

  “Where is Martin?” Prestwich asked, his face florid with anger.

  “I do not know,” Lia said. “What should I do? I felt him on the other side of the Leering, but I did not open it. He commanded me…he wanted me to open it.”

  The Aldermaston’s face turned as stormy as any expression she had seen on him. “I have felt something…wrong…for days now. My thoughts kept turning to the Pilgrim, which is why I sent you there with a message.” He reached out and gripped her shoulder. “You are my hunter, Lia. Go to the Pilgrim and bring him to me. I must not…I cannot leave the grounds. Not even for a moment. Not even for this. As the sheriff did, he will use the kystrel to make you fear, to subvert your thoughts with his twisted ones. Lia – you are stronger in the Medium than he is.” His eyes burned into hers. “You are stronger than anyone at the Abbey. Believe it, for it is true. Go there and bring him to me. Take the orb with you. It will protect you and warn you. And your weapons. If he will not come…” He paused, his wrinkles furrowing even deeper. “Then bring the kystrel to me. Do not let him roam free with it around his neck. Do what you must, Lia. Quickly now, before he escapes.”

  “I will, Aldermaston.”

  Prestwich looked hard at her. “Send someone with her,” he said.

  The Aldermaston shook his head. “She is enough. Quickly, child. Before the sun sets.”

  Lia hurried to the kitchen, her heart hammering in her ches
t. For a year she had trained with Martin on hunting, trapping, tracking, but more importantly - how to kill a man. She knew how to hunt men, how to trick them, how to elude them. But this time it was real. Her throat was parched, her hands sweaty. Her only comfort was the look the Aldermaston had given her. He was certain she would succeed. That degree of confidence gave her courage. After pulling open the kitchen door, she rushed inside, shocked to see Colvin and Edmon there. Edmon was in the middle of one of his stories and had Pasqua and the girls enthralled. He paused to smirk at her, then went on with his story while she fetched her bow sleeve, a full quiver, and shooting gloves from her chest beneath the loft.

  “Lia, have you eaten anything yet?” Pasqua called. “The day is getting late. You must be hungry.”

  “Later, Pasqua. The Aldermaston asked me to hurry.” She pulled the shooting gloves on snugly and went deeper behind the stores of barrels, candles, and tubs of fat. She crouched low, out of sight, and tugged loose a brick in the wall, and pulled it free. Behind it was the Cruciger orb in a leather pouch. She fastened it to her girdle and shoved the brick back in place.

  “Do you want some bread?” Pasqua said, coming over. Sowe and Bryn giggled at something Edmon said. She offered Lia a stubby loaf, which she took gratefully. “Are you all right, child? I can get some cheese too, if you give me a moment.”

  Lia smiled tersely. “More chores. I will be back soon.” She kissed Pasqua’s cheek and slung the quiver and sleeve around her shoulder as she walked back out and stuffed the loaf into her walking bag.

  Colvin followed her out.

  She glanced back at him as she started toward the gates. “I will not be gone long. I have not forgotten…” The look on his face made her stop. “What is it?”

  “I will go with you.”

  She shook her head. “Stay at the kitchen, Colvin.”

  Anger brooded in his eyes. “I am not deaf to the Medium, Lia. Something is wrong. I see it in your eyes, and I feel it seething inside you. What happened during your errand?”

  She clenched her teeth. “The Aldermaston said…”

  “Hang what he said!” Colvin snapped. “You are frightened and pretend not to be. Can you not trust me with a secret, Lia? As if idling my time in the kitchen will benefit anyone?”

  “You are stubborn,” she said impatiently. “I do not have time to argue with you. Walk with me. I will tell you on the way.”

  He matched her stride easily.

  “I was to deliver a message to the Pilgrim Inn through the tunnels below ground. There is a Leering…would you stop flinching every time I say that! It is just a Leering! It blocks the tunnel and only a password will open it. When I touched the stone, I felt Scarseth on the other side. Yes, our friend. He has the medallion I snatched from the sheriff, and he used it to try and force me to open the door.”

  “Sweet Idumea,” Colvin muttered, his face glowing with anger. “I should have killed him.”

  She gave him a sidelong look. “You may get your chance now. The Aldermaston told me to bring him inside the Abbey grounds. I do not understand why. But if Scarseth will not come willingly, then I must bring the medallion with me. I imagine he will not want to give it up, but there you have it.”

  “And he is sending you?” Colvin said in disbelief. “By yourself?”

  “I am his hunter, you idiot. Who else is he going to send? I am the only one with a sword.”

  He looked at her as if she were the idiot. “There are two knight-mastons here by my count,” he said through clenched teeth, gesturing at his sword pommel. “I am sure you were given excellent training, Lia, but have you ever killed a man before?”

  His words startled her. The answer was yes, but she had never told him that. When she thought about it, it made her squeamish and guilty, even though she knew that she had done the Medium’s will. Her victim was not just one of the many nameless corpses in the battlefield of Winterrowd – it was a king. She yearned to tell Colvin, but it was not the right moment for such an secret confession.

  “As I said,” he went on, obviously interpreting her silence as proof of his argument. “He could have asked Edmon and I.”

  Lia gave him a harsh look, remembering that the Aldermaston had charged her with their safety. “But I am strong with the Medium, Colvin. Stronger than you.”

  “I already knew that, Lia.”

  They reached the gatehouse, which was opened for them. The streets were full of people and carts, the traffic of buying and selling that Lia loathed so much. The people of the village were rude and getting ruder still as they usually did before twilight. A few looked askance in her direction, but she ignored them. Several whispered behind their hands and then pointed at Colvin. The wind scattered leaves and dust and Lia looked up and saw clouds rushing in from the north. That usually meant a sea storm.

  The Pilgrim Inn bustled with stain-splotched travelers and weary helpers. She looked for any indication that something was wrong. Siler was talking to some guests, but waved to her. The children were playing at the main table with the guests, one of which was an older woman who fawned over them. Lia approached Siler.

  “Is anything wrong?” she asked him.

  He looked at her in confusion. “A storm blowing in, by the look of it. I have Brant up fixing the roof right now. Did you see if he was using a rope? I hate it when he forgets to use a rope. Does the Aldermaston need anything?”

  “Is Maud in the kitchen?” Lia asked.

  “Yes, I believe so. She was when I last checked. At least I think so. I am not sure.”

  So Lia and Colvin went to the rear of the inn and entered the kitchen. As Lia opened the door, she tested the air, feeling for Myriad Ones. Maud was by herself, preparing a stew and bread hastily. She looked over as they entered and grabbed a tray of loaves.

  “Lia!” Her face looked worried, but she brightened. “I was thinking about you a short time ago and worried. Are you doing well? How is Bryn and Pasqua?”

  Lia looked around the kitchen, searching for anything out of place. “Why are the children playing in the common room? They normally play in here.”

  Maud’s face clouded. “They do not want to play in here any more.”

  “Is something wrong, Maud?”

  She bit her lip. “No, not really. It is just…well, I told Siler we should tell the Aldermaston, but he did not want to trouble him. It is the Leering down in the cellar. It has been acting…strangely. The children are frightened to go down there now. You know children and how they can imagine things. But even I have been a little nervous about going down myself. It is probably nothing.”

  Lia shook her head. “It is the reason I am here. Go with Siler and do not let anyone in. Wait for us. It will not take long.”

  Maud dried her hands on the towel and rushed out of the kitchen. Lia turned to Colvin and nodded to the trapdoor near the far wall. That trapdoor was the last place they had seen each other before his return to Muirwood. He walked over and pulled on the heavy iron ring, heaving it up effortlessly. Lia walked around the other side, hand on hilt. Colvin’s jaw was set – as tense as any time she’d seen him. He drew his blade.

  “The cellar is not very big…” Lia started to say. She did not feel the presence of anyone below.

  “How large is it?” Colvin asked. He looked nervous.

  “Not very large. Shelves and stores mostly. The Leering is on that side,” she said. “I will go down first.”

  But he was already ahead of her, jumping into the pit from the ridge, landing with a thud.

  Angrily, she started down the ladder and entered after him. It felt wrong – foreboding. The feeling came from the Leering carved into the stone door, and she silenced it with her mind. After untying the strings, she withdrew the Cruciger orb from the pouch and it flared brightly, casting away the shadows. Colvin looked behind some barrels and then motioned her over. His jaw was clenched.

  From the position of the barrels, a space had been cleared away. There were chicken bones,
crumbs, and holes in the barrels, spilling food. Bootprints were all over the floor and milled grain.

  “He is not here,” Colvin said. “He knew you were coming.”

  “True, but he does not know that I have this,” Lia said, holding up the orb. In her mind, she focused on his face, the image and smells of him that she remembered – scruffy chin, bloodshot eyes, the stink of sweat and onions. The spindles on the orb began to whir.

  CHAPTER TEN:

  Storm on the Tor

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Gusts of cold wind knifed through Lia’s cloak, chilling her skin. An occasional drop of rain splattered against her face, but the brunt of the storm was still looming in the sky. Her cloak flapped behind her with the wind, as if it would be torn away, so she clutched it at her throat and marched on. Colvin scowled, not wearing a cloak himself, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his look determined.

  The orb was clear in its direction. It led them out of town, where she found matching bootprints in the dirt that quickly left the road into the scrub and trees. The spindles and the mashed ridges of dirt both pointed towards the Tor, the lopsided hill that could be seen from the Abbey, the highest point of ground in the Hundred.

  “I have a question for you,” Lia said, closing the gap between them so she would not have to shout.

  “You always have questions,” he replied.

  “The Aldermaston called Scarseth’s medallion a kystrel. Is it named after a falcon breed then?”

  “You have it right.”

  “Why is it, though?”

  “What is peculiar about a kystrel when it hunts its prey?”

  Lia looked down at the orb, saw that the spindles had not changed, and thought a moment. “I have no idea why it would be named after a bird. It obviously does not help him fly – I can see his trail clear enough.”