The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

Fear engulfed her, a sick tide of fear that swamped her senses, black as night and terrible as the creature in the mountains of Pry-Ree she had faced. They had been waiting for her to return.

Lia fled. She rushed to the window balcony, knowing she had precious moments to get outside. They would have soldiers waiting for her below, she knew that now. But better to face soldiers with steel and fist than struggle against the compelling emotions which the Dochte Mandar attacked her with. The night breeze was caressing, but her heart was too frantic to care. She planted her hands on the edge and nearly vaulted it when she realized to her horror that the stones of the stairwell were gone. There was nothing but the naked face of the tower wall below.

In a wild moment of pure panic, Lia wondered if she should jump over the ledge and fall. Where were the steps? The question made her notice the Leering – the shallow indentation in the stone floor in the sculpted shape of two entwining serpents. It was the hetaera’s tower. She realized that her previous trips had not gone undetected at all. The trap was left open invitingly.

Martin! He would be trapped inside the Abbey too. They were all trapped.

The glowing eyes formed a wall by the balcony. The man in the middle spoke, his voice thick with the Dahomeyjan accent.

“Welcome, child. Have you received the water rite?” She recognized his voice from the day before as she and Jouvent had been met.

She struggled against the flood of feelings, but she was no match for six of them.





*





They escorted Lia down the inner well of the tower, three in front and three behind her. The only other way down was a plunge down the center of the shaft. Torches burned in brackets on the walls. The wrought ironwork of the torches were shaped into coiling serpents, whose mouths breathed out the flames. Lia shuddered. The air was cloying with the smell of incense. She remembered it from Augustin Abbey. The smell lingered in the air, thick and heavy with its aromatic spice.

When they reached the base of the tower, it ended at an enormous wooden door, which they opened and proceeded to march her down the corridor.

“Cover your hair,” one of them ordered her, adding a flex of the Medium to the command that made it horribly compelling. She complied and raised her hood.

She was terrified. Her mind refused to work, as if the Dochte Mandar were shrouding her thoughts with such terrors that she could not focus on anything, not the path they walked, the number of doors they had passed. She did not know how deep she was in the Abbey. It was elegantly crafted, with beautiful velvet draperies and ancient tapestries. There were pedestals and gold-etching everywhere, filling her eyes with the extravagance of the expense.

They ended the journey at a door and the leading man knocked on it.

Lia prepared to meet the Aldermaston of Dochte. She tried to steel herself, but she could not stop trembling. Her heart ached with despair. Would Martin be able to escape? Would he come for her? Or were the Dochte Mandar truly waiting for him as well?

The door opened, but Lia could not see inside yet, for the wall of black cloaks covered it.

“We have her.”

It was Dieyre’s voice. “Leave her with me.”

“The Aldermaston wishes to speak with her.”

“He will. But I paid you to allow me the first chance to speak with her. Give us a moment before the Aldermaston comes. Go.”

“As you wish,” came an arrogant reply. The curtain of men parted and Lia saw Dieyre in the doorway, a goblet in his hand, his shirt collar unbuttoned and open, exposing his chest, damp with sweat. His unruly hair was just as she remembered it and she felt a spasm of dread. The last time they had faced each other, she had tried to kill him and he had succeeded in killing her.

He seemed amused by the expression on her face. “Come in, Lia.”

The Dochte Mandar allowed her to pass them and she did, entering the room and Dieyre shut the door behind her, letting her pass near him. He seemed to smell her scent as she passed by. It made her feel terrible.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked and brought the goblet to his mouth and took a sip from it. She could smell the cider on his breath.

It was a bedchamber with no windows. It reminded her a little of the one in the Aldermaston’s manor, the one where Marciana and Hillel had slept. There was a fireplace, an enormous canopied bed with huge velvet curtains sprawled open, revealing a disheveled mattress and blankets. There was his sword, propped against a cushioned seat.

“I will not drink the cider,” Lia said, turning slightly to glance at him.

He sauntered into the room and set his goblet down on a table after taking another swallow from it. “How about a bath then? I was about to bathe when the knock sounded. You are filthy, Lia. Such a girl as you should be in a gown instead of that hunter garb. Would you like me to fetch a gown for you?”