The Blight of Muirwood
Page 95
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Lia glanced at Colvin, saw the anger flaring in his eyes. She did not know how much he had overheard.
“If anyone deserves to be scolded, it is you,” she said, rising to her feet. “You slept through your watch. In a war, you would be flogged, I believe. Instead, I will withhold your rations. Enjoy the shrewberries, my lord. When you have a duty, you must fulfill it. Or you will ride alone after this.”
She said it pointedly, wanting him to question whether or not she was sincere, but inside she did worry how much Dieyre had overheard.
* * *
“The Blight is not to be feared. It is only a manifestation of the thoughts prevailing in the world. Where weeds are sown, weeds grow. We are more wicked together than separately. If you are forced to be in a crowd, then most of all you should withdraw into yourself.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE:
Vengeance of Pry-Ree
There was no way around the bog, so they went through it. The horses struggled against the mire, straining to pull their burdens through the fetid waters rising up to their flanks. Swarms of gnats and mosquitoes tormented them and she could hear Dieyre and Colvin bickering in low tones behind her. The oak trees were sickly and stunted, the branches black instead of brown. There was a new smell in the air, heavy and spoiled and vaguely familiar. The further they went, the more it became distinct – pungent – and then it revealed itself. They were near the sea.
Dieyre’s voice rose in tone. “But you are a man as well as a maston. Best if you realize that someday.”
Colvin’s horse suddenly plunged faster, churning through the mud as he caught up with Lia. Her eyes were trained on the expanse ahead of them, a building knot of oaks so thick that rose on some chain of hillocks that would hopefully lift them out of the deep wetlands.
His voice was thick with suppressed anger. “If I asked you, would you shoot him with your bow? The man is insufferable.”
Lia glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Are we that close to murder? Maybe I could shoot his horse instead. What is he troubling you about now?”
Colvin’s eyes flashed darkly. “It is of no concern. He merely presumes every man is like himself and it is his sworn duty to help them realize it. His conscience must be searing him again – if he has one.”
She nodded and kept prodding her beast forward. “Do you smell it?”
“We are near the waters separating us from Pry-Ree. Do you think we are far from Bridgestow?”
“I do not know,” Lia replied. “I was hoping the hills ahead of us would offer a view, but they seem rather crowded with trees. We are going east, that is all I know, and Bridgestow is east.”
“Damnable flies!” Dieyre roared behind them. “This is the most loathsome place in the kingdom.”
Lia glanced at Colvin and shook her head. “There is a certain beauty to this wilderness that I had not recognized until Martin trained me. Ah, the ground is firmer.”
With solid earth beneath them, Lia dismounted to rest the weary animal and led by the bridle. She withdrew the orb and summoned it again, watching the spindles whir and point. In a moment, she was surrounded by the Myriad ones. They engulfed her, drawn to her thoughts or to the orb, and began snuffling and mewling around her. The orb flashed once and writing appeared on the smooth surface, thin filigree letters that had always haunted her. She stiffened with panic.
“Do you feel it?” Colvin whispered, pulling his horse next to her. His eyes met hers.
She nodded. “They are thick. I am…not sure if the orb summoned them or we did.”
“Put it away,” Colvin instructed. He calmed his horse which turned fractious the moment the Myriad Ones swarmed them.
Lia did and withdrew her bow, getting an arrow ready.
“What is it?” Dieyre said, riding up behind them. He scanned the woods, his eyes suddenly wary.
“I must scout ahead,” Lia said, handing her reins to Colvin.
“No, let me,” he returned, but she shook her head.
“I am better at this work than you,” she said. “You two are not very quiet.”
Colvin frowned, hesitating a moment, but he took her reins and nodded mutely. With her bow ready, she continued up the hill, amazed at the thronging smoke shapes around her, the Unborn. It felt unclean when they sniffed at her, hissing in the invisible realm they came from. She realized something as she walked. Until that moment, she had felt the comforting presence of Muirwood all around her. There was something about wearing the chaen that had captured its essence. Every other time she had wandered the Bearden Muir with Martin or by herself, the moors had felt dangerous and unruly. Since becoming a maston, it was different. Regardless of where she went, its peace was with her. Until now – until the Myriad Ones had found her.
“If anyone deserves to be scolded, it is you,” she said, rising to her feet. “You slept through your watch. In a war, you would be flogged, I believe. Instead, I will withhold your rations. Enjoy the shrewberries, my lord. When you have a duty, you must fulfill it. Or you will ride alone after this.”
She said it pointedly, wanting him to question whether or not she was sincere, but inside she did worry how much Dieyre had overheard.
* * *
“The Blight is not to be feared. It is only a manifestation of the thoughts prevailing in the world. Where weeds are sown, weeds grow. We are more wicked together than separately. If you are forced to be in a crowd, then most of all you should withdraw into yourself.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE:
Vengeance of Pry-Ree
There was no way around the bog, so they went through it. The horses struggled against the mire, straining to pull their burdens through the fetid waters rising up to their flanks. Swarms of gnats and mosquitoes tormented them and she could hear Dieyre and Colvin bickering in low tones behind her. The oak trees were sickly and stunted, the branches black instead of brown. There was a new smell in the air, heavy and spoiled and vaguely familiar. The further they went, the more it became distinct – pungent – and then it revealed itself. They were near the sea.
Dieyre’s voice rose in tone. “But you are a man as well as a maston. Best if you realize that someday.”
Colvin’s horse suddenly plunged faster, churning through the mud as he caught up with Lia. Her eyes were trained on the expanse ahead of them, a building knot of oaks so thick that rose on some chain of hillocks that would hopefully lift them out of the deep wetlands.
His voice was thick with suppressed anger. “If I asked you, would you shoot him with your bow? The man is insufferable.”
Lia glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Are we that close to murder? Maybe I could shoot his horse instead. What is he troubling you about now?”
Colvin’s eyes flashed darkly. “It is of no concern. He merely presumes every man is like himself and it is his sworn duty to help them realize it. His conscience must be searing him again – if he has one.”
She nodded and kept prodding her beast forward. “Do you smell it?”
“We are near the waters separating us from Pry-Ree. Do you think we are far from Bridgestow?”
“I do not know,” Lia replied. “I was hoping the hills ahead of us would offer a view, but they seem rather crowded with trees. We are going east, that is all I know, and Bridgestow is east.”
“Damnable flies!” Dieyre roared behind them. “This is the most loathsome place in the kingdom.”
Lia glanced at Colvin and shook her head. “There is a certain beauty to this wilderness that I had not recognized until Martin trained me. Ah, the ground is firmer.”
With solid earth beneath them, Lia dismounted to rest the weary animal and led by the bridle. She withdrew the orb and summoned it again, watching the spindles whir and point. In a moment, she was surrounded by the Myriad ones. They engulfed her, drawn to her thoughts or to the orb, and began snuffling and mewling around her. The orb flashed once and writing appeared on the smooth surface, thin filigree letters that had always haunted her. She stiffened with panic.
“Do you feel it?” Colvin whispered, pulling his horse next to her. His eyes met hers.
She nodded. “They are thick. I am…not sure if the orb summoned them or we did.”
“Put it away,” Colvin instructed. He calmed his horse which turned fractious the moment the Myriad Ones swarmed them.
Lia did and withdrew her bow, getting an arrow ready.
“What is it?” Dieyre said, riding up behind them. He scanned the woods, his eyes suddenly wary.
“I must scout ahead,” Lia said, handing her reins to Colvin.
“No, let me,” he returned, but she shook her head.
“I am better at this work than you,” she said. “You two are not very quiet.”
Colvin frowned, hesitating a moment, but he took her reins and nodded mutely. With her bow ready, she continued up the hill, amazed at the thronging smoke shapes around her, the Unborn. It felt unclean when they sniffed at her, hissing in the invisible realm they came from. She realized something as she walked. Until that moment, she had felt the comforting presence of Muirwood all around her. There was something about wearing the chaen that had captured its essence. Every other time she had wandered the Bearden Muir with Martin or by herself, the moors had felt dangerous and unruly. Since becoming a maston, it was different. Regardless of where she went, its peace was with her. Until now – until the Myriad Ones had found her.
