The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

“Tell the Aldermaston he has another maston visiting from Muirwood,” the porter said.

Lia noticed the inflection in his voice and was surprised when the aged maston nodded and motioned for Lia to enter.

“Your name, child?”

“I am Lia.”

“So young to be a maston,” he observed. His brow furrowed as he examined her unkempt appearance. She felt awkward being in such a pristine place.

“Who is it now?” complained a voice thick with a northern accent. He rose from a stuffed couch, a goblet in his hand which he set down on a marble pillar. He was very young for an Aldermaston, probably not even fifty. His hair was shorn very close to his scalp and it was dark with occasional slivers of gray. He was healthy, athletic, and approached with a swagger, his mouth twisting into a scowl at the look of her.

“Look at you, as filthy as a beggar. You are a maston, are you? You hail from Muirwood?”

“I do,” Lia replied, nodding respectfully but bristling at the Aldermaston’s tone.

“How old are you?” he demanded.

“I am nearly sixteen.”

“Sixteen? And you passed the maston test, did you? What is your Family name? Would I know it?” He raised the goblet and took another sip of the drink, which smelled strongly of apples. It was probably cider.

“I do not think so,” Lia replied, hedging. “I am on a journey to Doviur.”

“I know most of the Families in your Hundred. Even the minor ones, like the Fesits. I would have heard if any passed the maston test so young. Who is your Family?”

Lia clenched her fists, trying to calm her anger. “I must be leaving. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“You will not tell me. I command you to speak. This is my domain, my hospitality.” He paused, looking at her again, more closely. “You have no Family, do you? I can see it in your bearing, your countenance. You must be a wretched.” He looked genuinely startled. “He elevated a wretched?” he murmured to himself. “Is that the new fad in Muirwood these days? Anyone who can kindle a gargouelle spark can take the test? I should have known. Cunning old fool.”

If Lia’s temper was not already smoldering, it suddenly blazed white hot. She said nothing, for any words out of her mouth would have been insulting.

The Aldermaston took another drink, regarding her closely. “So why are you bound for Doviur, my dear? Did Gideon Penman suspect that I would fail to warn the port cities about his imagined dangers? That I would not see through his ploy to legitimate Demont as usurper and king? Flee to Muirwood, there is danger! Leave your homes or you will all be destroyed! Bah! Does he truly think I am that na?ve?”

A cold feeling ran down Lia’s back. “You have not warned them?” she asked, aghast.

“Warn them of what? You are a wretched, so what can you possibly know about the ways of the world.” He turned away from her, cradling his goblet, then turned on her fiercely, his dark eyes smoldering with anger. “Let me educate you, child. Your Aldermaston conspired to murder the king. An anointed king! Why? Because the king had threatened to revoke his tax immunity. The king’s tax can only be collected in the jurisdiction of the king’s sheriffs. Poor Almaguer was murdered too. Child, do you not understand that Muirwood is the richest Abbey in the realm? Did you not know that this cider, this Muirwood cider that everyone craves, has tripled in price over the last three years? I am sure his coffers are fit to burst with the wealth he has earned from the cider trade. Enough wealth to lure Demont back from overseas and pay for his army of pretended mastons.” He reached out and handled the smoke-stained fabric of her cloak. “One would think he could afford to attire his wretcheds more appropriately.”

Lia grit her teeth, furious at the accusations. “I can assure you that the Aldermaston of Muirwood is not as wealthy as you presume. The Blight is real. Manifestations of it are ravaging the woods in our Hundred. Have you not heard of Sempringfall Abbey? It was burned.”

The man snorted. “It is a lie. It is a story you have been told because you trust an old man who cannot stand to lose his power and influence. Word of the king’s murder has reached our ears. I have it on good authority that the High Seer of Avinion has sent instructions for him to be arrested and brought to trial here, at Augustin. The wild tale of a great Blight coming is just a distraction. Every time the earth shudders, or a storm ravages a crop, or a new pestilence kills the grain, there is a quick opinion that we are being wicked and that it is the Blight. The Medium would not destroy the inhabitants of seven kingdoms. It is blasphemy even to suggest it.”