The Banished of Muirwood (6 page)

Maia flinched, but said nothing. Her cheeks were flaming.

“Where is she?” she asked in a kitten of a voice. She had to repeat herself even to be heard.

“Muirwood, I think,” her father said dismissively. “It is in an out-of-the-way Hundred full of bogs and swamps. I have heard nothing but trouble about the ruins and the slow process of rebuilding. That abbey will never be done, I fear. But that is neither here nor there, Maia. Your mother is banished. I am seeking to have our marriage annulled.” He looked at her pointedly. “For that to happen, Maia, I must banish you as well.”

Her heart rumbled inside her chest. She stared at her father as if he were a stranger. “Why?” she asked, her voice threatening to betray her. “Have I not pleased you, Father?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “No! It is nothing like that, Maia. No, no, that could not be further from the truth. I care for you, and I always shall. You are precious to me. But you cannot be my heir. I will not allow my kingdom to become a principality to another. There are many wolves prowling for you, Maia. Many would-be suitors who would love to claim your hand and my throne. No! I will not allow it. We are chief among the kingdoms. We have the most ancient noble blood, the strongest Families. But I am not growing any younger, Maia, and your mother could not carry another child to term, no matter how many vigils I kept. Something about your birthing . . . damaged her. I cannot allow a daughter to claim my throne. The Naestors would invade and overrun us if they knew a woman was to inherit.” His tone was turning uglier by the moment. His face twisted with rage. “I cannot show them a hint of weakness. Even Chancellor Walraven agrees that a woman cannot inherit Comoros without drawing all of our enemies to our shores. I must have a son. A warrior who can defend us when I am too old.”

In her mind, Maia thought of the timid little boy hiding in his mother’s skirts.

Maia’s tongue finally loosened, the strain of the situation too much to bear in silence. She stared at him in shock and disappointment. “How can you do this, Father?” she said with outrage. “You are a maston! You married Mother by irrevocare sigil. It cannot be broken! You cannot just banish her. She is a noblewoman in her own right, by her own rank. She is of the ruling Family!”

His face twisted with unsuppressed rage, and he strode up to her quickly. “Do not speak to me thus!” he spit at her. “You are my child and you owe me your allegiance and your obedience. You need not fling my oaths in my face. I know what I am doing. It is the only way to preserve our kingdom. You are a child. You cannot understand the ways of men and women.”

“I may be young, but this is wrong, Father! Surely you realize that. What offense have we committed to earn such a punishment? Is it just? A wife may be put away for adultery, but surely it is you who have—”

The look of rage on his face brought blind terror into her mind. He struck her across the mouth, a stinging slap that silenced her words and rocked her backward. “You will be
silent
!” he threatened her, his voice wavering with emotion. “You watch your tongue and guard your speech. I will not listen to such talk from my own flesh and blood. Be still!” He loomed over her, and Maia felt the stinging pain on her cheek and the flavor of blood in her mouth. Her knees trembled so hard she was afraid she would crumple onto the floor, but she held firm. She stared up at her father with loathing, her eyes dry.

His eyes were on fire with fury. One of his fingers jabbed at her nose. “Let me be very clear, Daughter. You are henceforth
banished
from my household. You are no longer my natural child. I have forsaken my maston oaths and no longer wear the chaen. I say it clearly so that there can be no misunderstanding between us. I do not believe in the benevolence of the Medium. It is real, I know that. But it is cruel and vicious too.” He spread his arms wide, as if daring her to contradict him. “But you will say nothing of this to anyone else. For the preservation of this kingdom, for the sake of the people, I will pretend as though I am faithful to the order. I will not persecute mastons or halt the rebuilding of the abbeys. I will fulfill my duty to complete them and reinstate the full rites. But I
cannot
remain bound to your mother, whom I
hate
with every bit of loathing and rancor you can possibly imagine. I cannot bear to even look at her, which is why I have sent her far away.”

Maia’s eyes widened with defiance. “Very well, then send me to my mother,” she demanded. “If I am to be banished, I would go to her. To Muirwood.”

Her father shook his head. “Oh no, I dare not let you go. Even if your eyes continue to accuse me. You are far too valuable a prize for my enemies. Those who pursue your mother’s interests will be disinherited, and their lands will be forfeited. But anyone seeking to abduct and control you will be guilty of treason. You will stay here in Comoros.” His look was grave and stony. “You are banished here, Maia. To Pent Tower.”

“May I see my mother first?” Maia whispered, her throat too tight to speak.

“In time. Perhaps. If you are faithful to me. Now trouble me no more, child, until I call for you. Chancellor—escort her to the tower prepared for her.”

This you must always remember. The hunter is patient. The prey is careless. These are wise words from the man who trained me to survive many hardships.

—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey

CHAPTER SIX

The King’s Collier

A
s Maia regained consciousness, she was first aware of a strange new smell—a peculiar scent that clung to her clothes, her hair, even her skin. She struggled to open her eyes, and it was so dark she wondered for a moment if she had been blindfolded. Light stabbed her eyes from slits on her right and she twisted to try and determine the source. The boarhound, Argus, was resting against her back, its coarse fur a source of heat and warmth. The dog lifted its head when she moved and gave an exaggerated yawn, as if scolding her for sleeping so long.

“Awake. Finally.”

It was Jon Tayt’s voice, gruff in the shadows. She had not seen him there, but her eyes picked him out as they adjusted to the dimness. Her muscles were sluggish to respond when she struggled to move. She would not have felt any more spent had she swum upstream against a river. Still, she was aware enough to discern that she was in a small stone cave, and to hear the wind keening outside. There was no sign of the kishion, and that concerned her.

Maia sat up and grazed her head against the ceiling of the cave. As she did so, she realized she had been sleeping on a strange pallet. Instead of straw, the ground was covered in strange green leaves dusted with fuzz. It was the source of the peculiar smell.

“What is this?” Maia asked, bringing one of the crushed leaves to her nose. It reminded her of mint, but it was different somehow.

“I call it mule’s ear,” the hunter replied. “See the shape? It grows wild up here on this side of the mountain. Good for bedding down on.”

A low growl sounded in Argus’s throat.

“Bah, be quiet,” the hunter scolded. He sat against the rock wall of the cave, a throwing axe cradled in his lap. “Old dog.”

Maia reached down and stroked the hound’s neck, gently caressing its pelt. It looked back at her, its tongue lolling from its mouth.

“I do not want you spoiling my hound now, my lady,” he said, a wry smile in his voice. “I would cut off the hand of any man besides me who tried to tame him, but since you are not a man, I will leave your hand intact.” Jon Tayt’s boot edged out to nudge the dog’s flank. “He guarded you all night, even when you were thrashing. Bad dreams?”

Maia blinked, awash in the memories. This was the second vivid dream of her childhood she had experienced recently. It felt almost as if the Medium were trying to communicate something to her while she slept. Not only were the dreams vivid, but they were part of the series of events that had led to her quest. Her heart was on fire with the emotions of the past—feelings she struggled to bury. What was she supposed to learn from revisiting her old memories?

“Hmmm? Bad dreams?” she replied evasively. “Some, I suppose. Did I fidget, truly?”

The hunter nodded. “A little frightening to watch. I thought you might be chilled, but you were sweating. Then, when I started to worry it was a fever, you cooled down. You are a riddle, Lady Maia.” His voice became very serious. “Why you are traveling with a
kishion
?” The emphasis on the word showed his distaste. “I don’t need to ask why the Dochte Mandar are hunting you, the medallion you wear and your silver eyes are answer enough. Ach, what trouble brings you to Dahomey?”

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.