The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

He obeyed and the Prince made the maston sign.

“I cannot speak your name, child. My tome is sealed. I cannot claim you as kin in words, but my heart is full. From this moment, you are a wretched. I Gift you that you may accomplish the work the Medium plans for you. This little hand, this tiny little hand will change the world. It will destroy. It will also build. You are dear to me, little one. I face my fate with courage that you may face yours. I Gift you with courage. I Gift you with faith. You will be strong in the Medium, child. Stronger than I. Until we rejoin at that day to come in Idumea, I give you all that I have and all that I am. My life for yours, dearest one. I die that you may live. Be it thus so.”

As the Prince lowered his hand, he saw wetness in Nuric’s eyes. The Medium was strong in the room. The Prince had not felt it very much of late. His heart was heavy with sorrow at the death of Elle and the devastation throughout Pry-Ree. Reaching out, he clasped Nuric’s shoulder. “Guard her, Nuric. Bear her safely to Muirwood.”

“I do not know the way,” he whispered hoarsely. “But I will find it.”

The Prince opened the pouch dangling from his belt and withdrew the Cruciger orb. “The Abbey is surrounded by marshland. It is desolate country, but it has its own beauty. When you are lost, and you will be, put the babe’s hand on the orb and the spindles will point the way for you.”

Nuric nodded and watched as the Prince tucked the orb within the blankets in the basket. Afterwards, he clenched the rim of the basket.

“It is crucial that she has the orb when she is older,” the Prince said, looking deep in his eyes. “She must have the orb. Only an Aldermaston can command it, or one of my blood. She will need it to find her way to safety. Without it, she will fail in her mission. I trust you, Nuric. I trust you to deliver her and the orb safely to Muirwood.”

“I will, my lord,” he promised. “I will do as you have commanded me.”

The Prince’s hand was still clenched around the basket. “Be faithful to me, Nuric. You must do all that I commanded you. If you fail, then we have no hope.”

“I will not fail you, my Prince,” he promised soberly.

“Go then. Take the secret tunnel so that no one sees you. The household is moving to Dungeurth castle for protection. The king’s army is nearing the river crossing. There is little time remaining. The orb will guide you past the army safely.”

With a nod, Nuric hugged the basket tightly against his chest. The Prince reached down and hoisted the trapdoor, exposing the ladder below. With a cautious step, Nuric managed his way down into the darkness. He looked up once, his eyes meeting the Prince’s. He nodded firmly. The Prince closed it and kicked the rushes back into place.

The ache in his heart deepened. A wretched – his daughter, the princess of Pry-Ree, soon to be the only heir of the kingdom – she was only a wretched now.





*





Prince Alluwyn reined in his stallion as they approached the turn that would lead to the river shallows. The path was obscured by enormous trees, towering redwoods that were wreathed in mist. The ferns swayed in the gentle breeze and the buzzing and cackle of birds and insects filled the air with chatter. Four Evnissyen flanked him, also mounted, each peering keenly into the mist.

“Do you hear the river?” said Braide. “We should hear it by now.”

“Too far,” muttered Tethys. He glanced back into the woods the way they had come. He seemed to be looking for something.

The Prince noticed the tightness of his jaw. The brooding expression. He had the sullen look of a guilty man. He would not meet the Prince’s eyes.

“After they cross the river,” the Prince asked, “How long can we hold them in these woods?”

Braide sniffed the air. “Two days at most, my lord.”

“Two days!” argued Kent. “We could hold them here a fortnight if we had a mind to do so. You speak rubbish, Braide.”

Braide shrugged, but did not change his answer.

“A fortnight,” Kent continued. “This is unfamiliar ground. They will move warily, expecting us to strike their flanks, which we shall. If we harass them, striking and fleeing, striking and fleeing, we can twist and pull their army in several directions. A smaller force, striking hard and fast, can convince an enemy it is larger than it is.”

“But you forget,” said the Prince, “that our enemies have joined forces. They have Pry-rian hunters among them. They know our tricks. They know our tactics. In a matter of force, we cannot prevail. We can only forstall them.”

Kent angrily scowled, not willing to concede the point. “Where is Campion? It is nearly dusk. The river is not far.”