The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

At first it looked like a boulder, but then she noticed the slender silver spike rising from the center of it. As they walked, the boulder became more distinct and she realized something she had not when seeing it from the Holk near dusk. Her initial thought was an Abbey built on top of a hill in the midst of the ocean. The ocean had receded all around it, exposing the land and sea grass. The side facing them showed not just an enormous Abbey jutting from the hilltop, but row after row of houses, walls, battlements, and turrets further down. From the rear she had seen forested slopes and cliffs. As they approached, she could see an entire village had grown up around the lower walls of the Abbey and it was thick and crowded and teeming with chimney smoke and people. There were darker blotches showing some small parks or woods, but the majority of the face was built up and defended. The Abbey was taller than a castle, more grand than any structure she had ever beheld. How had something so large and beautiful been crafted by men?

“She is a beauty,” Jouvent said with a proud smile. “That is our Abbey. The finest mountain in the world.”

His words summoned a memory. Long ago, she and Colvin had followed Maderos up the Tor which overlooked Muirwood far below. The climb had been strenuous, though the older man had hardly struggled for breath. She remembered him telling her, quite cryptically, that there would be other mountains she would climb. To find Tintern Abbey, she and Colvin had climbed a mountain in Pry-Ree. To reach Colvin, she would climb another one. A wave of emotions smothered her suddenly and she choked a moment.

“Other travelers,” Jouvent said, his face going from grin to grim. As Lia looked around, she saw others crossing the wetlands towards the great Abbey. “It is still safe to cross now. Best be there before supper, or the sea will trap thee inside. The inns will cheat thee. I must get back to mother soon. It is a long walk, but thou walkest well.”

Three dark dots appeared in the shimmering sand ahead and she realized it was three travelers leaving the Abbey for the mainland. Her heart began to pound when she recognized the black cloaks and cassocks riding dark steeds.

Jouvent hissed through his teeth. “Dochte Mandar.”

There was no place to hide. The broad expanse of sand and seagrass left nothing for shelter or to not be seen. Lia gritted her teeth as they approached at a calm walk, in no rush to leave the Abbey. She tugged her cloak tightly about her, trying to conceal her gladius the best she could.

The Dochte Mandar wore black with white ruffs about their necks. The cassocks were black velvet and designed with silver trim, reminding her instantly of the Queen Dowager’s henchmen. Their boots were lined with white pelts and each had gems studding their belts and saddle harnesses. Swords were fastened to their belts, each with a large ruby set into a silver hilt. Their faces were mazes of tattoos, which disguised their features and drew in her eyes.

“Thou art never to met their gaze,” Jouvent warned, staring down at the sheen on the water. “’Tis disrespectful.”

“Thank you,” Lia answered and followed his example. The horses snorted as they approached and Jouvent stopped, his head bowed meekly.

“Another set of pilgrims,” said one in strong Dahomeyjan. It was the formal speech she was used to, not the port speech. “They throng like locusts.”

Lia was not sure if she was supposed to respond or not, so she said nothing. Another answered instead. “Each soul must be saved. Regardless of how petty.”

The first stopped his horse in front of them imperiously. “Well met, travelers. What village do you hail from?”

Jouvent took his cap and wrung it in his hands. “Vezins, masters.”

“Ah, a lad from the port. Can you tell me, child, if the Earl of Dieyre arrived? The foreign lord?”

Jouvent nodded vigorously. “Aye, he be there.”

“Excellent, excellent. Thank you, child. The Medium’s blessing be on you.”

“He does not have the mark,” one of them murmured softly, but Lia heard it.

“Indeed, he does not. Boy, have you received the water rite?”

“No, masters,” Jouvent said, his face twisting with discomfort. “Not yet.”

There was a snort of dissatisfaction. “Why not? Why do you delay it?”

Jouvent wrung his cap more fiercely. “Mother. I am her only child. Her only help. She cannot spare me yet. But soon.”

“Look at me.”

Jouvent shook his head, his body quaking with fear.

“Look at me,” repeated the command. Lia could sense the churn of the Medium in the air. She could feel it swallow her whole, as if some great glass jar had clamped down on them both. She risked a glance and saw the one speaking, his eyes glowing silver.

Jouvent looked up at him, his face pale.

“You must understand it is important. Believe me when I tell you that you must disobey your mother if necessary to receive the water rite. You have until Twelfth Night, child. Remember that. If you do not receive it by then…” He paused, his voice so somber it chilled Lia’s heart. “Your mother will regret it with great pain. Twelfth Night, child. Do not delay.”

Jouvent was trembling. “Yes, masters,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Have you seen any mastons?” he asked next, his voice supple and inviting.

The coils of the Medium wrapped around Jouvent. She could see him struggling against it, fighting against it, but it was too powerful.

Lia pushed against their thoughts with her own. Do not fear them, she thought to the boy. Do not fear them, Jouvent. They cannot hurt you with me here. I will protect you.