The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

The smells and sounds of the woods were comforting, familiar, and haunting with memories. The scent of pine was strong in the air and Lia’s rushed pace prevented her from being cold. She walked with her hood down, listening for any sound that would betray an enemy. She had walked for a league at least and her feet were tired and sore, but she had endured worst before and knew her strength would last. She had to reach the port of Doviur by morning, and she decided to walk until she could smell the salty air before stopping and resting. The orb guided her, pointing the way through the tangle of trees, stumps, and fallen trunks.

A memory from the Bearden Muir flitted through her mind as she traversed the woods. She remembered the feeling of her filthy dress clinging to her skin, the grit buried underneath each fingernail, her hair a tangled mess. Those were details, but the bud of the memory was Colvin first teaching her how the Medium worked. It was the revelation that all actions in the world originated from the seeds of thought, deliberately sown and nurtured, and then the Medium maneuvered events to bring them to pass. His desire to join Garen Demont’s forces at Winterrowd had brought him Muirwood Abbey and laid him in the care of Lia as a wounded stranger. She recognized, a bit ironically, that his desire to find Ellowyn Demont had unwittingly been fulfilled as well.

It was her turn now to focus her thoughts on reaching him. The desire to find a ship to Dahomey consumed her. She had to hurry for something was going to happen if she did not. The Blight would start at Dochte Abbey and more than anything else, she wanted to protect him from it. She worried about him, so far away. What was he doing at that moment? Asleep and dreaming? What were his dreams? Was he awake at that moment, staring out some window at a night sky, sharing the scene of the moon high above that painted everything silver? Or was he in a dungeon as Marciana suggested, cold and miserable and terrified of the dark confined space.

Meeting the Aldermaston of Augustin had shoved her inside a new cauldron of worries. She could still see the naked ambition in his eyes, his craving to inherit Muirwood. So much of what he had said was utter nonsense. She had worked closely with the Aldermaston and had never seen even the remotest shadow of opulence that she had witnessed in Augustin. Instinctively, she realized the Queen Dowager’s hand. Augustin was subverted by the hetaera. Some of his words had brought thoughts to her mind, memories of the past. She recalled the sheriff, Almaguer, and his threats to destroy the Aldermaston. It was as if he had known that a change in leadership would happen and was looking forward to it. She shuddered to think of what life at Muirwood would have become under the direction of someone like the Aldermaston of Augustin. Had he not said that the price of cider had tripled in three years? Another memory nagged at her – it was the Queen Dowager’s age. She had been fifteen when she married the old king and come from Dahomey. Three years ago. The webs of spider thread were nearly invisible, but Lia could make them out. Subtle – calculating – coldblooded. She had not succeeded at first in toppling the most ancient Abbey in the realm. But Lia could tell clearly it was her aim.