The Scourge of Muirwood
Page 13
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“It is not,” the Prince replied, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Lightning streaked across the sky and the ripples of thunder made the horses nervous.
“A village is a village. We can find a bed and a meal at least.” Martin rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. “I would like as not to eat a jackdaw raw right now, feathers and all. If we hurry, we may find a place to rest before the night falls.”
The Prince shook his head, staring down at the valley floor. “We will not rest here. We ride southeast all night for Muirwood.”
“Muirwood is to the south? Why did we wander so far west?”
The Prince lifted his finger and pointed to the valley. The rain came in heavy sheets around them. The storm whipped at their faces. “That is where our enemy will fall. This field before us. Do you see that hill yonder? There he will die.” He chuckled through the howling wind. “I can see him, Martin. I can see him quivering with fear, shrinking from the battlefield. He is clutching my flag, Martin. It is a misty morning. He holds my standard when he dies.”
The Evnissyen nudged his horse closer, staring into the black rain and clenched his teeth with the discomfort of being soaked and saddle sore and robbed of a night’s lodging. “Why does he hold your standard, my lord? How did he get it?”
“He will get it after I am dead. As he has done with others before me, he will hoist my banner as a threat to his enemies. But hoisting it will kill him. That is where he will fall. From an arrow loosed from that slope. Do you see it? Where the ground pitches beneath that giant oak?”
“That is a large oak, my lord. Not questioning your lordship’s eyesight.”
“It should not be there.”
“What?”
“That oak should not be there. There needs to be a little cave for her to sleep. A shelter from those who pursue her.” He paused, staring at the giant oak. He wiped the rain from his face. Martin knew he could speak enigmatically at times, but this was different. He was talking about the future as if he were living there instead of the present. He shook his head, a stern expression on his mouth. “That oak should not be there.”
Martin leaned forward in the saddle, feeling impatient. “Shall I tell it to move then, my lord? If it offends you, I can go down to the village and fetch an axe.” And a meal, he thought blackly.
“Close your eyes. You must not witness the maston sign.”
This also had happened before. Martin despised the maston secrets. Not even the Evnissyen dared penetrate an Abbey to learn them. The Prince forbade it. Martin clutched the saddle horn, shivering from the hair as it dribbled down his leather hood. He closed his eyes, grimacing.
Suddenly everything went white and a blast of thunder nearly shook him off his horse. The animals screamed with fear and bucked frantically. The noise was so loud, Martin could barely hear the shrieking stallions. He twisted around on the saddle after calming his beast and the oak was afire, blazing despite the surge of rain.
“I said I would fetch an axe!” Martin roared, staring at the Prince, who stroked his stallion’s mane and whispered to it soothingly. The animal was preternaturally calm.
“An axe would not do,” the Prince replied. “The rains will wear away the earth at the roots, leaving a little cave. It will be ready when she needs it.”
“Who?”
“The girl in my vision.”
“Do you know who she is? Is this the girl who was drowned by the kishion?”
“It is the same, though he did not kill her. She managed to kill him.”
Martin looked at the Prince, who had a strange expression on his face. An expression of pride. “Who is this girl, my lord? Who is this ghost you hunt?”
“She is not one of the Unborn, Martin. It is the future that I see. There is one more place we most stop before Muirwood. The Medium bids me east again. But before you join me, ride over to the burning tree. You will find branches that have been preserved thick with acorns. Collect the acorns and bring them to me. All of them. Gather as many as you can.”
“I am collecting acorns now?” Martin said, exasperated. “Acorns?!”
“You will see, Martin. Gather them then join me in the valley beyond. There is something else I must do first and you cannot see it.”
* * *
Of all the tasks Martin had been given to perform during his duties as the Prince’s advisor and protector, gathering acorns near a forsaken swamp marked one of the most humiliating. The tree was thick with them, as he had been told. There were hundreds to gather, and Martin wondered at the reason. During one of his sea voyages, he recalled some wisdom he had learned from a sea-captain that enabled him to lead other men. The wisdom was that when men are employed in labor, they were contented. On the days they worked they were good-natured and cheerful, and, with having done a good day's work, they spent the evenings with mirth. But on idle days they were mutinous and quarrelsome, finding fault with their pork, the bread, the cider, and in continual ill-humor. That sea-captain, Martin recalled, had a rule to keep his men constantly at work. When his second once told him that they had done every thing, and there was nothing further to employ them about, the sea-captain ordered them to scour the anchor. Martin himself was known to employ that device with the Evnissyen, choosing to keep their minds and bodies active with too many orders rather than not enough.
“A village is a village. We can find a bed and a meal at least.” Martin rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. “I would like as not to eat a jackdaw raw right now, feathers and all. If we hurry, we may find a place to rest before the night falls.”
The Prince shook his head, staring down at the valley floor. “We will not rest here. We ride southeast all night for Muirwood.”
“Muirwood is to the south? Why did we wander so far west?”
The Prince lifted his finger and pointed to the valley. The rain came in heavy sheets around them. The storm whipped at their faces. “That is where our enemy will fall. This field before us. Do you see that hill yonder? There he will die.” He chuckled through the howling wind. “I can see him, Martin. I can see him quivering with fear, shrinking from the battlefield. He is clutching my flag, Martin. It is a misty morning. He holds my standard when he dies.”
The Evnissyen nudged his horse closer, staring into the black rain and clenched his teeth with the discomfort of being soaked and saddle sore and robbed of a night’s lodging. “Why does he hold your standard, my lord? How did he get it?”
“He will get it after I am dead. As he has done with others before me, he will hoist my banner as a threat to his enemies. But hoisting it will kill him. That is where he will fall. From an arrow loosed from that slope. Do you see it? Where the ground pitches beneath that giant oak?”
“That is a large oak, my lord. Not questioning your lordship’s eyesight.”
“It should not be there.”
“What?”
“That oak should not be there. There needs to be a little cave for her to sleep. A shelter from those who pursue her.” He paused, staring at the giant oak. He wiped the rain from his face. Martin knew he could speak enigmatically at times, but this was different. He was talking about the future as if he were living there instead of the present. He shook his head, a stern expression on his mouth. “That oak should not be there.”
Martin leaned forward in the saddle, feeling impatient. “Shall I tell it to move then, my lord? If it offends you, I can go down to the village and fetch an axe.” And a meal, he thought blackly.
“Close your eyes. You must not witness the maston sign.”
This also had happened before. Martin despised the maston secrets. Not even the Evnissyen dared penetrate an Abbey to learn them. The Prince forbade it. Martin clutched the saddle horn, shivering from the hair as it dribbled down his leather hood. He closed his eyes, grimacing.
Suddenly everything went white and a blast of thunder nearly shook him off his horse. The animals screamed with fear and bucked frantically. The noise was so loud, Martin could barely hear the shrieking stallions. He twisted around on the saddle after calming his beast and the oak was afire, blazing despite the surge of rain.
“I said I would fetch an axe!” Martin roared, staring at the Prince, who stroked his stallion’s mane and whispered to it soothingly. The animal was preternaturally calm.
“An axe would not do,” the Prince replied. “The rains will wear away the earth at the roots, leaving a little cave. It will be ready when she needs it.”
“Who?”
“The girl in my vision.”
“Do you know who she is? Is this the girl who was drowned by the kishion?”
“It is the same, though he did not kill her. She managed to kill him.”
Martin looked at the Prince, who had a strange expression on his face. An expression of pride. “Who is this girl, my lord? Who is this ghost you hunt?”
“She is not one of the Unborn, Martin. It is the future that I see. There is one more place we most stop before Muirwood. The Medium bids me east again. But before you join me, ride over to the burning tree. You will find branches that have been preserved thick with acorns. Collect the acorns and bring them to me. All of them. Gather as many as you can.”
“I am collecting acorns now?” Martin said, exasperated. “Acorns?!”
“You will see, Martin. Gather them then join me in the valley beyond. There is something else I must do first and you cannot see it.”
* * *
Of all the tasks Martin had been given to perform during his duties as the Prince’s advisor and protector, gathering acorns near a forsaken swamp marked one of the most humiliating. The tree was thick with them, as he had been told. There were hundreds to gather, and Martin wondered at the reason. During one of his sea voyages, he recalled some wisdom he had learned from a sea-captain that enabled him to lead other men. The wisdom was that when men are employed in labor, they were contented. On the days they worked they were good-natured and cheerful, and, with having done a good day's work, they spent the evenings with mirth. But on idle days they were mutinous and quarrelsome, finding fault with their pork, the bread, the cider, and in continual ill-humor. That sea-captain, Martin recalled, had a rule to keep his men constantly at work. When his second once told him that they had done every thing, and there was nothing further to employ them about, the sea-captain ordered them to scour the anchor. Martin himself was known to employ that device with the Evnissyen, choosing to keep their minds and bodies active with too many orders rather than not enough.
