The Blight of Muirwood
Page 101
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“Colvin,” Marciana said in a pleading voice. “I do not want you to go. Think of the danger. I know you feel your duty here, but please. You are an Earl of the realm. You have duties to Demont. He needs you right now.”
“Listen to her,” Dieyre said, folding his arms. “You will not last two days in Pry-Ree. They will kill you.” But his expression made it seem that he secretly wanted Colvin to go.
“I must try,” Colvin said, looking at Marciana. “Edmon can take you to Bridgestow. I will meet you there when this is done. It is a stronghold for Demont. Either way, he needs to know what happened to his niece.” He sighed deeply. “If I am only to survive two days there, then we must go and return that quickly.” He looked into Lia’s eyes hopefully. “Will you take me?”
Lia wrestled with her feelings. Should she insist on going alone? She knew how stubborn he could be. He had already made up his mind. If anyone could keep him safe in Pry-Ree, she knew that it was her with the orb. Just as she had done before.
“We had better rest now,” she replied. “We will get little there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE:
Blight of Pry-Ree
The boatman’s name was Pen-Ilyn. He was strong but not as hulking as Lia expected him to be – about the same size and build as Colvin. He was talkative in a way that made her seem as tight-lipped as Sowe. He and his wife shared in tales and business as he rowed, back straight, muscles churning the oars with regular repetition. After learning his family had been attacked by Dahomeyjan knights, he was in no mood to leave them behind, but brought the family on board as he rowed. Better to lose any of the trinkets in the house than to lose any of his precious brood. He spat and cursed the Queen Dowager’s name and her foreign ways.
Lia and Colvin sat in the prow of the boat as it sliced through the waters towards the distant shore of Pry-Ree. With Pen-Ilyn unable to stop talking, they had no time to speak quietly among themselves. Her rucksack was propped next to her, bulging with food and a blanket. Colvin had purchased clothes from the boatman and looked more like a commoner than a noble from court. He had not shaved in several days, so he wore the beginnings of a beard, reminding her of their trek to Winterrowd. She even studied the puckered scar at his eyebrow and felt the forbidden urge to touch it. Blushing, she looked away.
Pen-Ilyn turned his head and spoke louder. He had an accent, but he spoke both languages well. “There is a little island called Steep Holm in the waters over yon. Some think it is Pry-rian shores, but it is not. If I am getting weary, or if there is a storm, I shelter there until it passes. If I wanted to, I could row to Pry-Ree and back twice each day. It is not so much as being strong as it is not getting tired. If you keep a steady pull on the oars, it becomes a rhythm, like a flute. I wish I could flute and row at the same time, but I cannot.”
“If you fluted, papa, who would pull the oars?” asked his oldest daughter, Blodyn.
“Which is an excellent question. How about you blow the flute for me, lass, and I will do the pulling. Sometimes my girls make the journey with me, if their mother can spare them. I usually only make one trip each day. There are folk who know the Bridgestow road and they know where I am. The sheriff calls now and then, but he thinks I am fishing. Even though I do not have any nets. I could buy some nets. I wonder if the fishing is any better?”
Lia looked at Colvin who looked as if he had a headache from the constant talking.
“Where are we going?” Lia asked. “Is there a town?”
“I cannot say with any certainty which direction they were off to, but the hamlet across the water is called Enarth. The larger town is Caerdeth. It is the port that trades with Bridgestow. There is a garrison castle where the sheriff lives. He stays indoors mostly because he fears an arrow lodging in his neck. That happens sometimes in Pry-Ree. Maybe they went to the castle first. It is not a far walk from Enarth.”
Colvin smirked. She doubted Martin would take Ellowyn to one of the king’s castles in Pry-Ree. Pen-Ilyn talked more about flutes, the wool trade, tax collectors, sheriffs, the price of Muirwood cider, fishing, storms, as well as family members. Before long, Lia’s mind wandered back on the morning as they departed. The images of the moment were still fresh in her mind, her feelings powerful. Marciana clutching Colvin in a tight hug, tears running down her cheeks as she said goodbye. She had received a hug herself that nearly choked her with intensity and a whispered, “Do not let anything happen to him!” Edmon was not his usual self. The acid tongue of Dieyre had frightened away his amiable nature. Edmon stood resolutely on the shore, promising Colvin he would see his sister safely to Bridgestow. As they left, Marciana crying on Edmon’s shoulder, Dieyre regarding them with a mixture of odd sympathy and jealousy. He waved to Colvin, offering thinly veiled advice on how to stay warm at night. Lia blushed with rage, but she held her tongue, recollecting just how tactless Dieyre was. Lia watched them mount horses as the oars dipped into the choppy water, saw them pose near the shoreline and wave. Edmon would return with fresh mounts and men from Bridgestow and await their return after Marciana was safe away.
“Listen to her,” Dieyre said, folding his arms. “You will not last two days in Pry-Ree. They will kill you.” But his expression made it seem that he secretly wanted Colvin to go.
“I must try,” Colvin said, looking at Marciana. “Edmon can take you to Bridgestow. I will meet you there when this is done. It is a stronghold for Demont. Either way, he needs to know what happened to his niece.” He sighed deeply. “If I am only to survive two days there, then we must go and return that quickly.” He looked into Lia’s eyes hopefully. “Will you take me?”
Lia wrestled with her feelings. Should she insist on going alone? She knew how stubborn he could be. He had already made up his mind. If anyone could keep him safe in Pry-Ree, she knew that it was her with the orb. Just as she had done before.
“We had better rest now,” she replied. “We will get little there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE:
Blight of Pry-Ree
The boatman’s name was Pen-Ilyn. He was strong but not as hulking as Lia expected him to be – about the same size and build as Colvin. He was talkative in a way that made her seem as tight-lipped as Sowe. He and his wife shared in tales and business as he rowed, back straight, muscles churning the oars with regular repetition. After learning his family had been attacked by Dahomeyjan knights, he was in no mood to leave them behind, but brought the family on board as he rowed. Better to lose any of the trinkets in the house than to lose any of his precious brood. He spat and cursed the Queen Dowager’s name and her foreign ways.
Lia and Colvin sat in the prow of the boat as it sliced through the waters towards the distant shore of Pry-Ree. With Pen-Ilyn unable to stop talking, they had no time to speak quietly among themselves. Her rucksack was propped next to her, bulging with food and a blanket. Colvin had purchased clothes from the boatman and looked more like a commoner than a noble from court. He had not shaved in several days, so he wore the beginnings of a beard, reminding her of their trek to Winterrowd. She even studied the puckered scar at his eyebrow and felt the forbidden urge to touch it. Blushing, she looked away.
Pen-Ilyn turned his head and spoke louder. He had an accent, but he spoke both languages well. “There is a little island called Steep Holm in the waters over yon. Some think it is Pry-rian shores, but it is not. If I am getting weary, or if there is a storm, I shelter there until it passes. If I wanted to, I could row to Pry-Ree and back twice each day. It is not so much as being strong as it is not getting tired. If you keep a steady pull on the oars, it becomes a rhythm, like a flute. I wish I could flute and row at the same time, but I cannot.”
“If you fluted, papa, who would pull the oars?” asked his oldest daughter, Blodyn.
“Which is an excellent question. How about you blow the flute for me, lass, and I will do the pulling. Sometimes my girls make the journey with me, if their mother can spare them. I usually only make one trip each day. There are folk who know the Bridgestow road and they know where I am. The sheriff calls now and then, but he thinks I am fishing. Even though I do not have any nets. I could buy some nets. I wonder if the fishing is any better?”
Lia looked at Colvin who looked as if he had a headache from the constant talking.
“Where are we going?” Lia asked. “Is there a town?”
“I cannot say with any certainty which direction they were off to, but the hamlet across the water is called Enarth. The larger town is Caerdeth. It is the port that trades with Bridgestow. There is a garrison castle where the sheriff lives. He stays indoors mostly because he fears an arrow lodging in his neck. That happens sometimes in Pry-Ree. Maybe they went to the castle first. It is not a far walk from Enarth.”
Colvin smirked. She doubted Martin would take Ellowyn to one of the king’s castles in Pry-Ree. Pen-Ilyn talked more about flutes, the wool trade, tax collectors, sheriffs, the price of Muirwood cider, fishing, storms, as well as family members. Before long, Lia’s mind wandered back on the morning as they departed. The images of the moment were still fresh in her mind, her feelings powerful. Marciana clutching Colvin in a tight hug, tears running down her cheeks as she said goodbye. She had received a hug herself that nearly choked her with intensity and a whispered, “Do not let anything happen to him!” Edmon was not his usual self. The acid tongue of Dieyre had frightened away his amiable nature. Edmon stood resolutely on the shore, promising Colvin he would see his sister safely to Bridgestow. As they left, Marciana crying on Edmon’s shoulder, Dieyre regarding them with a mixture of odd sympathy and jealousy. He waved to Colvin, offering thinly veiled advice on how to stay warm at night. Lia blushed with rage, but she held her tongue, recollecting just how tactless Dieyre was. Lia watched them mount horses as the oars dipped into the choppy water, saw them pose near the shoreline and wave. Edmon would return with fresh mounts and men from Bridgestow and await their return after Marciana was safe away.
