The Blight of Muirwood
Page 127
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Lia opened her eyes. She could not see through her tears, but she heard his boots approaching, heard the stiff rasp of breath. Blinking quickly, the scene opened like a flower before the sun – Colvin walking towards them, maston-sword gripped in hand. Thumping against the leather jerkin on chest, the ring she has tossed to him. The sword tip pointed down, but she could see the angry clench of his fist, the cool hate mirrored in his eyes.
“Forshee!” one of the soldiers whispered gruffly but with grudging respect.
“Where’s the Demont girl?” said another. All attention seemed to be facing the two noblemen who clearly hated each other. Lia started scooting slowly, so slowly towards the Leering. The blood in her mouth was choking her.
“I have been waiting for this moment,” Dieyre said, closing the ground that separated them. “Ciana has sworn to be my wife as long as I spared you. But you know how good I am at keeping my promises.” There was a grin in his voice that made Lia sick. “I know she wanted to be married in an Abbey. But after today, there will be no more Abbeys. It ends here. It ends today. Your lands are mine. Your sister is mine. Even your curly-haired wretched is mine. You have nothing left that I want.”
The soldiers had not seen Lia slinking away. The ground was rough against her back, the trampled oak leaves and twigs dragged against her. The pain was beyond anything she had experienced. It took biting her tongue to keep from whimpering with each fervent twitch. Closer, closer!
“I am not afraid of you,” Colvin said, his voice hoarse.
“Of course not. You are too stupid to be afraid. Everyone who has relied on you is in my hands. Your poor useless friend York…I left him in a puddle of blood. Demont is dead and every maston with him. You are the last, I think. The last to fall. You should have fallen at Winterrowd. Let us end it here.”
The swords clashed with a shower of sparks. Dieyre came again, faster than a lightning strike, and again it was parried. It was a whirlwind of blows, sweeps, and cuts. Lunges and stabs, as if a thousand iron shields clattered down stone steps in a moment. Dieyre was wearing armor, and Colvin had none. They traded blows and cuts, shoving and stomping and grappling at each other, then moving back and circling, feinting, only to charge and rush again.
Lia gasped as a ribbon of blood appeared on Colvin’s cheek from Dieyre’s sword, one that nearly took out his eye.
“She is crawling! Look at her!”
They had seen her.
A shadow fell across her body. Scarseth, a dagger in his hand. His eyes were glowing fiercely. She could see the tattoo marks expanding across his throat as he maintained the power over the Leerings, his teeth clenched, obviously wrestling with the Aldermaston in his mind to keep the flames going.
Save me! he screamed at her in his mind. I do not want to hurt you! Pareigis is making me!
But what could she do? Fight it! she screamed back at him. Fight her off!
The clash of steel stopped suddenly. The two knights circled each other, sweat dripping from their faces. Dieyre sounded impressed. “You are better than you were. You have been practicing, Forshee!” The swords met again, clashing after clash. Lia could not bear to look. She was angry at him for sacrificing himself. He was supposed to take Ellowyn to Dahomey. Who was left to carry out the Medium’s will?
Scarseth’s hand suddenly closed around her throat, squeezing it. The dagger came down next. Lia caught his wrist with her good hand, arresting the stroke. He was so strong with the Medium’s power. Her eyes went black for a moment then she focused. Dangling over her, loose from his shirt was the kystrel.
Dieyre continued his taunting. “I wish you could have seen her beg, Forshee. The way she begged me to spare York’s life and yours. It would have cut through any other man, especially the tears. I made her promise and seal that promise with a kiss.” The blades struck harder and harder. Faster and faster. “Not just any kiss. She had to mean it. She had to want it! And she did, Forshee. I will cherish that memory. Her arms around my…”
And then Dieyre’s sword whistled, arcing in the air, end over end until it landed with a thump on the heath.
Colvin’s boot stomped hard on Dieyre’s foot, his elbow snapped Dieyre’s head back, and Dieyre flopped on the ground. The point of Colvin’s sword came down on his chest and stopped.
The soldiers were shocked. A hushed silence fell.
“Kill me,” Dieyre growled. “If you are a man, then kill me!”
Lia shoved against the wrist, but the blade was getting closer to her ribs. Her whole body trembled with the agony and effort. She could not hold him. Her strength was going to fail.
“Forshee!” one of the soldiers whispered gruffly but with grudging respect.
“Where’s the Demont girl?” said another. All attention seemed to be facing the two noblemen who clearly hated each other. Lia started scooting slowly, so slowly towards the Leering. The blood in her mouth was choking her.
“I have been waiting for this moment,” Dieyre said, closing the ground that separated them. “Ciana has sworn to be my wife as long as I spared you. But you know how good I am at keeping my promises.” There was a grin in his voice that made Lia sick. “I know she wanted to be married in an Abbey. But after today, there will be no more Abbeys. It ends here. It ends today. Your lands are mine. Your sister is mine. Even your curly-haired wretched is mine. You have nothing left that I want.”
The soldiers had not seen Lia slinking away. The ground was rough against her back, the trampled oak leaves and twigs dragged against her. The pain was beyond anything she had experienced. It took biting her tongue to keep from whimpering with each fervent twitch. Closer, closer!
“I am not afraid of you,” Colvin said, his voice hoarse.
“Of course not. You are too stupid to be afraid. Everyone who has relied on you is in my hands. Your poor useless friend York…I left him in a puddle of blood. Demont is dead and every maston with him. You are the last, I think. The last to fall. You should have fallen at Winterrowd. Let us end it here.”
The swords clashed with a shower of sparks. Dieyre came again, faster than a lightning strike, and again it was parried. It was a whirlwind of blows, sweeps, and cuts. Lunges and stabs, as if a thousand iron shields clattered down stone steps in a moment. Dieyre was wearing armor, and Colvin had none. They traded blows and cuts, shoving and stomping and grappling at each other, then moving back and circling, feinting, only to charge and rush again.
Lia gasped as a ribbon of blood appeared on Colvin’s cheek from Dieyre’s sword, one that nearly took out his eye.
“She is crawling! Look at her!”
They had seen her.
A shadow fell across her body. Scarseth, a dagger in his hand. His eyes were glowing fiercely. She could see the tattoo marks expanding across his throat as he maintained the power over the Leerings, his teeth clenched, obviously wrestling with the Aldermaston in his mind to keep the flames going.
Save me! he screamed at her in his mind. I do not want to hurt you! Pareigis is making me!
But what could she do? Fight it! she screamed back at him. Fight her off!
The clash of steel stopped suddenly. The two knights circled each other, sweat dripping from their faces. Dieyre sounded impressed. “You are better than you were. You have been practicing, Forshee!” The swords met again, clashing after clash. Lia could not bear to look. She was angry at him for sacrificing himself. He was supposed to take Ellowyn to Dahomey. Who was left to carry out the Medium’s will?
Scarseth’s hand suddenly closed around her throat, squeezing it. The dagger came down next. Lia caught his wrist with her good hand, arresting the stroke. He was so strong with the Medium’s power. Her eyes went black for a moment then she focused. Dangling over her, loose from his shirt was the kystrel.
Dieyre continued his taunting. “I wish you could have seen her beg, Forshee. The way she begged me to spare York’s life and yours. It would have cut through any other man, especially the tears. I made her promise and seal that promise with a kiss.” The blades struck harder and harder. Faster and faster. “Not just any kiss. She had to mean it. She had to want it! And she did, Forshee. I will cherish that memory. Her arms around my…”
And then Dieyre’s sword whistled, arcing in the air, end over end until it landed with a thump on the heath.
Colvin’s boot stomped hard on Dieyre’s foot, his elbow snapped Dieyre’s head back, and Dieyre flopped on the ground. The point of Colvin’s sword came down on his chest and stopped.
The soldiers were shocked. A hushed silence fell.
“Kill me,” Dieyre growled. “If you are a man, then kill me!”
Lia shoved against the wrist, but the blade was getting closer to her ribs. Her whole body trembled with the agony and effort. She could not hold him. Her strength was going to fail.
