The Blight of Muirwood (10 page)

That was thoughtful. She liked that about him. “I was on my way to Martin’s lodge. Are you finished with your studies for the day?”

“I am. Do you mind the company?”

“No.” As they started walking towards the western grounds, Lia noticed him fidgeting. “What did you learn from the Hodoeporicon today? You are still engraving it?”

He nodded excitedly. “I am hoping to finish engraving before Whitsunday. I have been burning through dozens of candles at night to work. The other learners think I am daft, but I would really like half of it scribed before I finish this year.”

“Any sage bits of wisdom from it?” she asked playfully, bumping into him to knock him off balance. He staggered a bit, grinned, and kept up with her.

“Several. From today – you will like this one. ‘A burden which is done well becomes light.’ Another good one – ‘he who is not prepared today will be less so tomorrow.’ Every learner should be forced to memorize that one. Rather obvious.” He started fidgeting again. She could tell he had been rehearsing. “My favorite from today was this one – ‘What is allowed us is disagreeable, what is denied us causes intense desire.’”

The truth of that statement burned in her mouth. It was so true. Her craving to read was only made more desperate by the Aldermaston’s refusal to let her. Would she find as much pleasure in it, were it suddenly given? She hoped so. “Why Duerden, have you been
practicing
that one all day?”

“I just… I thought you would like it, Lia,” he said, stammering. Sweat glistened on his forehead. The day was cool. She wondered if he had shared it with any of the other girls. “Have you heard the Queen Dowager is coming to Muirwood? What do you make of it?”

Lia kept her eyes on the trees ahead, keeping the pace steady. “I know she is coming but I do not know much about her really. Actually, I do not know
anything
about her. I imagine she is very old?”

“No, she is young,” Duerden replied. “She is eighteen, I think.”

Lia stopped, staring at him. “Reome’s age?”

“The old king’s first wife died when we were children – I was eight, I think. I remember when it happened. Three years after her death, he married the Pearl of Dahomey of the royal house of Mondragon.
Pareigis
is how you say her name in Dahomeyjan. Most call her the Queen Dowager. That means the young king is only slightly younger than his step-mother. She will surely marry again, as they had no children together.”

“That is disgusting,” Lia replied, cringing at the thought. She started walking again and he followed. “How old was the old king when he married her?”

Duerden looked puzzled and thought quickly. “Nearly sixty, I think. She was fifteen when they were married – our age. Yes, he was an old man when he was murdered.”

The accusation stung her conscience. It always made her angry when he doubted the truth of what happened at Winterrowd. “He was not murdered, Duerden. He died during a battle.”

“That is not what I heard,” he replied skeptically, ducking beneath an oak branch as they crossed the row of trees. “I am not certain there even was a battle at Winterrowd.”

It was just at that moment, crossing the border of oaks, that she saw Colvin. Beyond the screen of trees on the other side of the duck pond was the hunter’s lodge. Just to the west of it grew a field of purple mint used by the lavenders for scenting clothes and the apothecaries for remedies. She saw him crouching amidst the flowers, with a stem broken off in his hand. As they had not concealed their approach, he lifted his head and rose when he recognized her. He started towards them, and her heart hammered with surprise. There was no sign of Ellowyn.

“That is Colvin Price,” Duerden muttered in awe. “He is the Earl of…”

Lia interrupted, “He is the Aldermaston’s guest, and he was at Winterrowd. I think I will ask
him
if there was really a battle, or if...”

“That is impertinent, Lia. He is a stern man, does not suffer fools…”

Colvin twirled the stem in his hand and crossed the maze of purple flowers to reach them.

“I am going to ask him,” Lia whispered.

“Lia, do not!” Duerden whispered back.

“Good day, Lia,” Colvin said. He looked at Duerden and an expression clouded his face for just an instant. She did not understand what it meant, but she noticed it. “I do not believe we have been introduced,” he said to Duerden. “I am Colvin Price. I bid you good day.”

Duerden stared at him as if some thunder had exploded in his ears and he could not hear a word.

Colvin waited for an awkward moment, patient.

“This is Duerden Fesit,” Lia said, tugging at his hand. “From Fath Court Hundred.” His palm was sweaty and cold. “He is the friend I told you of.”

Colvin was composed. Duerden looked as white as an eggshell.

“We were just talking,” Lia went on, patting Duerden’s hand in sympathy. “About all the rumors involving Winterrowd. You were there, were you not, Lord Colvin? At the battle?”

The look he gave her had the sheen of amusement. “Yes.”

“Well, Duerden was just telling me that some are saying there was not a battle. That Garen Demont could not possibly have defeated the king’s army, not losing a single man, without some treachery. It is said that the old king was murdered. Have you heard these rumors?”

Suddenly Duerden’s mouth was working again. “I was not saying that…what I meant is…that is what some are saying, not what I myself believe. I trust implicitly in the power of the Medium, but for the sake of reason and argument, I cannot vouch for what I did not myself witness, since I was here, as you know…learning.” He took a gulp of air. “I apologize for bothering you, Lord Price. It will not…happen…again.” His complexion went from white to green.

Colvin’s tone was measured, but his eyes flashed with annoyance. “If I were in your position, I would feel the same. The story is truly incredible. But as Lia said, I was there. I witnessed it. We were outnumbered, surrounded, and had to fight for our own survival. I was one of many knights who earned a collar that day. There was a battle and the Medium was with us. And it is true – not a single man of our company died, though each of us bears the scars of our wounding. Those of us who were there are…uncomfortable…speaking of it. It was a singular moment in my life. Hence the whispers and the rumors.”

Duerden’s mouth quavered. “I pray I did not offend you,” he mumbled.

“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

* * *

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.”