The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

Lia whirled fast and hard, for the other two were charging in as well. She ducked a blow aimed at her shoulder and thrust her dagger at his stomach, but the hauberk deflected it. Lia brought her knee up into his gut, making him cough. The leader was reaching for her when he slackened and stumbled, and she realized Jouvent had wrapped himself around the man’s leg.

The door of the inn shuddered open, sending wind through the gap with a howling sound. Lia grit her teeth, expecting more enemies and then she saw Malcolm enter, his face furrowed with anger. He turned and called behind him, “She is here! Hasten!”

The leader of Dieyre’s knights hammered his fist at Jouvent’s head and hair, but the boy did not shriek or cry, he only squeezed harder and ducked away from the blows. When at last he was thrown off, the knight stood and saw he was surrounded by twelve iron-hard sailors from the Holk.

Malcolm had a cudgel in his hand and tapped it menacingly against his palm. “Why threaten the lass?” he said roughly. “What beggars are you to do that? Drop your swords or we kill you here and now.”

“Captain?” one of the knights moaned fearfully as the crew quickly surrounded them.

Malcolm glanced at the frightened man. “You should fear us. We are the crew of the Holk.”

The leader of the knights cast his weapon to the floor with humiliation in his eyes. The other man cast his down as if it burned him. The other three men were writhing still.

Malcolm looked at Lia respectfully. “Shall we escort these hostages to our hold? They be Dieyre’s men. He may not miss them for a while yet. That will give us some sport and you a chance to leave Vezins.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “If they ever disturb this place again, I want them to know they will be killed.” She approached the captain of the knights, his eyes full of hate and fear. She reached up and gripped the edge of his sturdy chin, meeting his hateful gaze with her own. “You tell Dieyre that she will not come by boat nor by sea. She is out of his grasp forever. He is nothing but a coward and a fool, and so are you for serving him. May the Blight take you all.”

Reaching down, she glimpsed the chain and pulled the Kystrel out of his shirt and snapped the links with a swift jerk. Then she smacked him with her open palm, so hard her skin stung. His lips quivered with rage and desperation.

“You give that message to your master for me,” she warned. “He would not heed my words in Muirwood. I do not think he will listen now.”

Turning back to Malcolm, she nodded for the sailors to take them away. She listened to the kicking and punching as the crew overwhelmed the knights. Staring at the kystrel cupped in her hand, she remembered Almaguer and Scarseth. She walked to the ovens and tossed the medallion into the pit. She stared at it, amidst the ashes, as if it were a great contorted eye. She summoned the Medium, and it was difficult, like drawing a breath through water. The flames obeyed her though and lit her skin with golden hues as the fire consumed the kystrel and melted it.

Hearing a scuffle of a boot near her, she looked over, seeing Jouvent staring up at her, a trickle of blood coming from his nose and forehead. He stood bravely, gazing at her with admiration. “I will take thee now,” he whispered. “It is not safe in Vezins for thee.”

Lia tousled his dark straight hair and nodded. “Fetch me some woad, Jouvent.”





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“I tremble as I write this. I should not tremble. I must never surrender to my fears. As the Aldermaston of Billerbeck taught me, the soul attracts that which it secretly harbors, that which it loves, and also that which it fears. The Aldermaston of Muirwood taught this. So has the Aldermaston of Dochte. It must be true. If so, then I must proceed with caution. The young king desires to marry me. He said it will end the rift in our kingdom. He wants me to be queen at his side. He has promised me lands, servants, and riches if I accept him. I resist the idea. I do not love him and I do not desire those things. I do not believe that he loves me. He will sacrifice himself for the good of the country, but he will never love me. Therefore, I make this oath to myself. For if it is true that we will always bring to us that which we most secretly love, and if it is true that our thoughts will be set within our reach, then I have but one chance at true happiness. I will marry no other save Colvin Price, the earl of Forshee. I will marry him at Billerbeck Abbey under the hand of his Aldermaston and by irrevocare sigil. We will marry by Twelfth Night. It is written now. I feel strangely calm. Calmness is power. When I go to the dance tonight, I will be calm. Colvin will dance with me tonight. Even if I must ask him.”





- Ellowyn Demont of Dochte Abbey



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CHAPTER SIXTEEN:


The Water Rite