The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

Kieran stepped in and smashed the heel of his hand into the man’s nose. Lia saw the spurt of blood, the shocking stream of crimson, and then the second man was down on the cobbles as well. She saw the gladius in Kieran’s hand. He whirled around and cracked a man’s skull with the hilt, dropping him.

Lia felt her body lurch as the final man grabbed at the pouch holding the orb and tried to slit the tether with his knife. All around her, things whirled and before she could think, she reacted. She caught the wrist holding the knife and pulled him towards her, jamming the edge of her hand into his throat. His eyes bulged as he spluttered and choked. Twisting his wrist, she pulled harder and swung him around and into the side of a building, head-first. He collapsed in a heap.

Kieran sheathed his gladius, nodded to her approvingly and motioned her to follow. They entered the street as the four men twitched and moaned.

“You told them the Guidhall because you wanted their friends to chase us somewhere else,” she said.

He gave her a wry smile. “And just moments ago, I was beginning to think you were totally useless. You have the makings of an Evnissyen in you. Tell me more about this girl we are hunting down. Other than she is Lord Price’s sister. Is she a maston? Can she cross the Apse Veil?”

“No, but she studies to be one.”

“Is she the kind of girl who will help us save her or hinder us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can she handle a blade?”

“I have never seen her.”

“A scholar then. How boring. Have you given any thought as to how we will rescue her? Or were you leaving that detail to me to consider?”

Lia grit her teeth. “No one is making you do this, Kieran.”

He sighed. “You are not defenseless, I will give you that. But you are young and inexperienced. I was trained for the city. You were trained for the woods. They are both wild and savage but in different ways. What I am asking, Lia, is what we will do when we find the Lambeth? Were you planning to knock on the porter door and ask for her?”

“The Medium will tell me,” Lia answered. “It always does.”

“Really? You can actually feel it in the Stews? I have not felt its spark since we left the Claredon this morning. This is a sick and diseased place. It will succumb to the Blight in a moment, if it already has not. You think the Medium will direct us to her?”

Lia craned her neck and felt a throb in her heart. For the last several moments, her eyes had rested on a girl ahead of them, carrying a basket against her hip, wearing a shawl to cover her hair, though some of the locks escaped and she recognized the color.

“It already is,” Lia said and started to walk faster. The girl walked and dodged through the street ahead of them. Lia recognized the stride, the muscles on her arms. But as they approached, the girl turned sharply to an alley, hunched over, and retched into the gutter. She was sick. No one took notice of her, except Lia.

“What is it?” Kieran asked, seeing her stare. “The girl? That is Forshee’s sister?”

Lia shook her head, watching as the girl wiped some spittle on the shawl. She hefted the basket of laundry again. Lia had a glimpse of her face.

“No,” Lia whispered. “Her name is Reome Lavender. I know her from Muirwood.” The insight struck her as it always did, just a little whisper of knowledge. Just as it had pointed her out in the crowd. Without seeing her face, Lia knew. “She is with child. Dieyre’s child,” she whispered.





CHAPTER FIVE:


Lia’s Leering





The swamp filling the lowlands of Muirwood was known as the Bearden Muir, but neither Prince Alluwyn nor Martin Evnissyen knew it by its local name. For them, it was a wet and sick land, so different from the lush valleys of Pry-Ree thick with fat sheep and jackrabbit and thrush. No, the swamps reminded them more of the mountains, the ancient mountains called the Myniths where ancient beasts roamed and tortured travelers with their worst fears. The Bearden Muir was full of sinkholes and bogs, clouds of gnats and crooked oaks crowning the bumps of land protruding from the swamp.

The two men on horseback rode into a clearing on the slope of a hillside that wound down to a little hamlet fixed near the sea. The wind whipped at their cloaks and large blots of rain spattered the ground. The Prince looked down at the orb, which had stopped spinning.

“By Cheshu, a village,” Martin muttered. “At long last. Is that Muirwood? I do not see the Abbey. Is it hidden in the woods?”

“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.”