by Jeff Wheeler
Lia suspected there was much more to the story. But this was not the time or the place to learn it. “Go to the manor house and ask for Prestwich.”
“The balding, aging fellow with a sour spleen?” he asked derisively.
Lia gritted her teeth. “He will grant you audience with the Aldermaston.”
“Very well.” He started on his way and then stopped, looking back. “The weather is fine. I should like to go hawking today. Please arrange it with your other duties. A falcon or a hawk will do. I am not fond of hunting with kystrels.”
The way he said it made her shiver. The look said much more than his words. He turned and left, marching quickly towards the manor house.
Sowe’s hand slowly found Lia’s. “He is…he is so dangerous,” she whispered.
“Colvin said he was the best swordsman in the realm,” she replied, watching him go. “But I am not sure if his greater talent is not his ability to persuade. Poor Ciana. He is relentless.”
“Let us go back to the kitchen. I feel safer there,” Sowe suggested.
“I need to go by the apothecary first,” Lia answered, remembering her errand.
“I will go with you.”
They walked in silence the rest of the way. As they approached the apothecary, the door opened from the inside and Getman Smith came out, holding his head. His eyes were bloodshot, his face wrinkled with misery. But when he saw Lia and Sowe, his wince turned into a dark scowl.
“Sowe,” he whispered, his face suddenly burning.
CHAPTER THIRTY:
Betrayed
Sowe’s sudden squeeze on Lia’s hand shocked her with its intensity. Getman shuffled down the stone steps from the apothecary door, his scalp bandaged. Lia had the strong suspicion that he was one of the young men who had tried to punish Dieyre and failed.
“Why did not you come last night?” Getman said to Sowe, ignoring Lia.
“I was with Pasqua,” Sowe whispered, so faintly that Getman could not hear it.
“What?”
“She was with Pasqua,” Lia said abruptly. “You look terrible, Getman.”
“Was I talking to you?” he said with a snarl. Then back at Sowe he glared. “You did not join the maypole dance last night. It was Astrid, then? He told you? I thought I saw him sneaking. He probably overheard.”
“I…” Sowe said, starting to tremble. “I…did not want to go last night. To leave the Abbey.”
Lia could see that Getman was bitterly disappointed in the turn of events. He was humiliated, furious, and desperate. He had one more year until he was required to leave Muirwood and he had counted on the Whitsunday fair to progress his relationship with Sowe. He was completely blind to her feelings, of course. Most men were afflicted with that curse.
“Astrid,” he muttered savagely as he walked by them. He shook his head in rage.
Lia felt a pang of concern for the boy. She caught Getman’s sleeve. “You leave him alone,” she warned in a low voice.
She was unprepared for the depth of his reaction. A lidded kettle frothing so violently inside that the release let out a scaling hiss of steam. His face contorted with uncontrolled rage. In an instant he was screaming at her.
“Do not touch me! I swear I will thrash you too, hunter or not! You strut around this Abbey with a blade and a bow. I could take you down with one fist. One fist!” His clenched fist quavered high, threateningly. “You are nothing, Lia! You were born nothing and you will die nothing! Like we all will! All of us, each one! I hate this place.” His fist continued to quiver. “If you ever touch me again, I swear I will thrash you until you are black with bruises. You are nothing. Nothing! We are all nothing here. How I hate it.”
A red haze of anger swelled inside Lia. The look in Getman’s eyes – it was horrific. He was so angry, so humiliated he was going to lash out at anyone and everyone. In one move, she could have him face first on the ground. Who was he to talk to her like that? He, who had been a bully to her all her life. She had trained with Martin for almost a year. She had protected the Abbey from the Queen Dowager’s men – had thrown a man off his horse. She had fought a kishion face to face and nearly been drowned. Who was this blacksmith boy with a cracked skull?
“Lia,” Sowe warned in a tremulous voice.
More than anything else, Lia wanted to humiliate Getman Smith. For all the bruises he had left on her arms. For all the tormenting he had done to the wretcheds. What would everyone think when they heard that she, a hunter, had knocked him to the ground? She was not a nothing! She could use the Medium better than Colvin or Edmon. She had defended Muirwood that morning in a way that Getman would never understand. She was not just a wretched, she was a wretched from Pry-Ree. And now she was a maston.
Will you observe justice towards all men? Will you do no harm to any one unless the Medium commands you?
Getman’s voice was thick with contempt. “You may dress like a boy all you like. You probably enjoy it! But you will never be the man Jon Hunter was. You will never be as good as him. Why the old man chose you…I have never understood. It should have been me. I should have been chosen. Not you.”
Lia wrestled with her anger and the oath she had taken. She could hardly speak through her fury. “Do not touch that boy,” she warned.
“Or what? Are you going to stop me? No, you will tell the old man like you tell him everything I have ever done. I know he hates me. Might as well leave now. I cannot stand another year in this place.”
“You have no idea what you are saying,” Lia replied, trying to calm herself. “Let us go, Sowe.”
She reached for the other girl’s hand and started to pull her away when Getman grabbed a fistful of her clothes at the shoulder, ready to yank her back and insult her again. In grabbing her gown, he also seized her chaen.
The Medium flared inside her, a wall of blazing ice and fire that stunned her with its intensity and fury. To Getman, she imagined it was like gripping a lightning bolt. His eyes went wide with shock, his fingers paralyzed by the feeling blazing through him. As if something huge and heavy collided with him, he stumbled few steps backwards, his hand as red as if he had pressed it against the inner wall of the forge. It was the Medium that had struck him, not Lia. She had not called it to bear at all. She had not summoned it or even thought about it. All she had done was cool her temper and trample her instinct to humiliate him.
Getman gaped at her.
Lia smiled warningly. “Do not touch me,” she said.
* * *
After Whitsunday each year, the learners returned with their families back to the manors and castles they came from. Teachers who had not seen their families for the duration of the year abandoned the Abbey for a brief season. The cloister was locked and secured. The wretcheds kept working, but had more time to enjoy without the constant fuss of learners. With the Queen Dowager gone like a whirlwind as well, it was quieter on the grounds. A new routine would begin. The end of the season was a quiet time, one that Lia usually relished.
Colvin’s departure crushed her with wistful memories.
Before he had returned, there were places she could go that would remind her of him. The forbidden grounds where Maderos’ lair existed, for example. The loft ladder or the Pilgrim Inn. She could go to those places and remember seeing him there. But since he had stayed at Muirwood, it felt as if his footprints were everywhere – in the grass, near the majestic oak trees, through the Cider Orchard. Especially the orchard. It pained her to walk there now, remembering the look on his face when he had rejected her. The memories surprised her with their vividness and the intensity of feelings.
He was gone and he would never return. Did she truly believe it? That they would never see each other again? The Aldermaston was still ailing and had asked her to stay close to the grounds in case the Queen Dowager returned. She did not know if they were still surrounded or not – their enemies could still be lurking in the woods. She wanted to investigate but would not disobey the Aldermaston.
; At least once a day she had to endure the presence of the Earl of Dieyre. He was so different than Colvin. Talkative, witty, shallow – intense. She took him hawking twice and he was courteous and grateful, yet always pressed her to go further from the grounds than she thought wise. She refused and he relented – but he still pushed her. He knew the sport and enjoyed the kills. But she did not trust him. For some reason the Aldermaston had let him stay.
At dusk on the third day after Whitsunday, Lia checked the perimeter of the grounds as she usually did, always on the look for the sign of trespassers. She had passed the grounds on the far side of the fish pond and worked her way around to the far side of the Cider Orchard. The light was beginning to fail, but she saw the matted grass first before she noticed the bootprints.
Lia froze, staring at the ground. Instinctively, she reached for her gladius and drew it. She approached the telltale signs. There was no mistaking it. A man’s step, a man’s stride walking quickly and deliberately up the hillside and into the orchard. Her heart went wild with uncertainty. The prints were fresh.
She stooped, tracing the edge of the print with her finger, her sword hand ready. What to do? She could go straight to the Aldermaston. But he would have her track the prints. Why the orchard? Was someone stealing apples for food?
Lia started along the trail, following the steps into the Cider Orchard, listening to the wind rustling the branches and leaves. It was silent. No thrashing of limbs. No thumping of falling apples shaken loose from the stems. She crossed as quietly as she could, keeping each step soft and deliberate. She smelled the air, listening to the sounds, hoping there would be something to warn her of danger. How had the intruder made it past the Leerings? Each step brought her deeper into the orchard until his voice came from the shadows on her left, startling her.
“You found me quickly.”
It was Colvin.
Lia’s thoughts spun with surprise and shock. She turned on her heel, staring as he emerged from around the trunk. His face was mud-spattered. His leather jerkin soiled and damp, his fingers stained with mud. Bits of bark and nettles stuck in his clothes. He looked like she usually did after a foray into the Bearden Muir.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a hoarse whisper. “Colvin, what is wrong? Are you hurt?”
“You seem surprised to see me,” he answered, his face a mask of intensity and anger.
“Of course I am surprised. Why are you here?”
“You truly do not know?” his voice was thick with disbelief.
“I would never lie to you. You know that. I never have. Where are Marciana and Ellowyn? Are they nearby? I only saw one set of steps to follow.”
“I was hoping, Lia, that you would tell me,” he replied stiffly. His face contorted with rage. “The Aldermaston betrayed us. Martin led us into a trap.”
He may have well punched her in the stomach. She shook her head. “No, that cannot be true.”
“Would I lie about this?” he snapped impatiently. His eyes burned with fury and another look – desperation. “Please. I need your help. I did not know where else to go. You can help me, Lia. You are the only one who can.”
She shook her head, still amazed that he was standing before her. “I do not understand. The Aldermaston told me he did not know where Martin was taking you. It breaks a maston oath, does it not? To swear falsely?”
He cringed as she said it. “Do not speak of things you know nothing about. I believed him, but would Martin have betrayed him? I was assured of his loyalty, and he led us into a trap. But you can help me, Lia. If you get the Cruciger orb, you can show me the way to them. I must find them.” His face looked even more desperate. “They have my sister too,” he choked out.
“What?” Lia demanded, unable to pull her thoughts together. “The Queen Dowager has them?”
“No!” Colvin said fiercely. “The Pry-rians! We were ambushed. We were led right into their midst. Martin said they were taking Ellowyn back to Pry-Ree, back to her true family. They took my sister as a hostage.”
“Where is Edmon then?” Lia asked, sick.
Colvin shook his head. “Though they warned us not to follow, I told Edmon to follow after, in case they let my sister go. I came straight here, but as you can imagine, I do not know my way through the Bearden Muir. There are still remnants of the Dowager’s men in the woods below the grounds, so I had to wait until dusk to approach unseen. I knew you made your run of the grounds around this time and hoped to encounter you as I did and persuade you to abandon the Aldermaston to help me.” He gripped her shoulders with both hands and it made her shiver. “Please, Lia. I must beg you to help me. Help me rescue my sister. Help me save Ellowyn. I swore an oath to protect her. On my life, I swore it. I promised her I would safeguard her. Please – I will do anything you ask if you help me fulfill my vow.”
Lia stared at him, at the panic in his eyes. She could only imagine at the depth of desperation that had driven him back to Muirwood to seek her help. No doubt he remembered his coldness. No doubt he remembered they stood in the same grove of apple trees where he had scorned her. No doubt he remembered that he had not fulfilled his previous promises – to teach her to read or the dance with her. He was a proud man. Yet his determination to fulfill his duty and to protect his sister outweighed the personal humiliation he was enduring.
His fingers burned into her shoulders, as if he clutched her like a drowning man to a rope. His expression was exhausted. He had probably walked without sleeping. Was he hungry? When was the last time he had some water? She looked at his face, his concern, his helpless expression.
A feeling of tenderness and sympathy moved her. Even though he had spurned her, she chose to help. His earlier scorn still stung, and she could not bring herself to try and comfort him with a hug or murmured assurances that all was forgiven. She winced, not with the pain of his fingers stabbing her shoulders, but at the conflict boiling inside of her. Helping him would mean being near him, even if that closeness would make her heart ache.
“Of course I will help you,” she whispered, her throat catching on the last word.
* * *
“No maston ever became wise by chance.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE:
The Chase
Lia knelt by the bedside and clasped the Aldermaston’s hand. His grip was surprisingly strong, his face flushed. Great drops of sweat dripped down his forehead. The clenched jaw of his mouth shook with repressed anger and unbearable pain.
“What would you have me do?” Lia asked, meeting his gaze. “Colvin is gathering victuals from the kitchen right now. We are to meet in the stables and take his and Edmon’s horses.”
“Of course,” he said with a choking voice. “Use the orb to elude the marauders in the woods. I am sure…” he stiffened with a wince, the pain so severe it stole his breath. When he was able to speak again, his voice was pale with weakness. “They…have…made it to the Pry-rian border by now. Or they are…nearly to Bridgestow and will ferry across…from there. You must…find Ellowyn. She was under…our protection. She still…is.”
Lia squeezed his hand harder. “Why did he do it, Aldermaston? Why did Martin betray you?”
He shut his eyes, sighing deeply. “He always felt…he was betraying Pry-Ree by not fetching her. He loves his people deeply. The Blight that struck…Pry-Ree…was so severe. He could not live there…like a sickness. A cancer.”
Prestwich bathed his forehead with a damp rag. He looked miserable.
“Are you going to die?” Lia whispered. “What will happen to the Abbey?”
He shook his head, thrashing it in the effort. “My pains…come and go. When it passes, my strength will return. I am old, but I have work yet to do. The Medium has assured me of that. The pain will pass soon.”
Lia bit her lip, watching his suffering with sympathy. “What if the Queen Dowager comes back…?”
“Hush,” he interrupted.
“Would you bring her to us…with those fears…so soon? The Medium controls my destiny. I told you…that. Go, child. Help the Earl of Forshee find his sister. And Demont’s heir. I was certain…several days ago…that you would be going. Now I know why. Prestwich…I am going to be sick again. Fetch the basin. Go, Lia…leave tonight.”
Once more, she squeezed his hand, kissing his sweaty forehead and hurrying from his sickroom. Astrid was just beyond, pacing nervously.
“Will he die, Lia?”
She shook her head. “I do not know. You must help him while I am gone. Search the boundary each night. Warn him if you see any riders.” She gripped his shoulder firmly, gave him a stern look and then hurried to the kitchen. Pasqua and Sowe were fussing over the stores they had gathered and tied into linens and leather rucks. She had already fetched the Cruciger orb and tied it to her waist. While Colvin shouldered the burdens, she took her bow sleeve and three quivers of arrows. Pasqua stifled a sob and gave her a crushing hug. Sowe was more gentle and whispered in her ear, “Keep Edmon well for me.”
Lia promised she would and then left with Colvin into the dark. They crossed the Abbey grounds afoot, their stride marking their urgency to reach the stables.
“What did he say?” Colvin asked brusquely, his eyes unreadable in the gloom.
“That Martin was convinced Muirwood would fall. That Demont will as well. He has lived through this season before – when the Abbeys are destroyed and the Blight comes. He has always been loyal to his native land. Maybe Martin thought that because of her birthright, she will be able to reverse the Blight that has plagued Pry-Ree.”
“I should have foreseen this,” Colvin muttered darkly. “It is dangerous whenever there is a conflict of loyalties. You were right to confer with the Aldermaston. I am glad you did.”
