The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

“There was an Aldermaston long ago, over an Abbey that I will not mention, who allowed a wretched the privilege of reading and engraving. He was a talented young man and strong with the Medium. The learners of the Abbey disdained him due to jealousy and his lack of rank. The Aldermaston encouraged his progress however, convinced that his abilities would bring the Abbey great renown. But the wretched desired one thing above all else. By learning to read, he hoped to discover the identity of his forbearers. Instead of studying the words of the ancient mastons before him, he pored through the Abbey records, seeking the identity of his parentage. The clues were sufficient in the Abbey history, and he determined the identity of his mother, who had been a helper in the Abbey and a wretched herself. Abandoning his studies, he sought her at a neighboring village and forced her to reveal the identity of his father, who, he discovered, was a learner at the Abbey but never became a maston. He confronted the man who gave him his life, and he robbed him of his as vengeance. To this day, Aldermastons keep learners and helpers apart, and they refuse, completely and totally and rightfully, to allow wretcheds of any circumstance the privileges.”





- Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey



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CHAPTER NINE:


Almaguer





The sheriff of Mendenhall was balding. That was the first thing Lia noticed about him. What hair he had was short and spiky, patchy across the dome of his head like a stretch of grass that had been trampled too many times. He was taller than the Aldermaston, but younger, his beard more steel than gray. As the rear doors of the kitchen were thrust open by the soldiers gripping Lia and Sowe, he turned from his conversation with the Aldermaston and Pasqua, a satisfied smile on his face. He looked pleasant, except for his eyes. His eyes were like gleaming spoons in a box of silver.

“You see, Aldermaston, I knew my men would find them.”

“We did not exactly find them,” said the soldier holding Lia.

“They were sneaking in the mist,” said the one holding Sowe.

“We were not sneaking,” Lia said, yanking her arm free and glowering at the man. “We wanted to see the horses. I told you we should not have gone,” she snapped at Sowe, whose complexion was paler than milk. The girl’s knees were shaking.

There were four other soldiers in the kitchen too, searching every sack, looking around every barrel, and even poking their blades into the oven flues.

“In all likelihood, it was the older girl’s suggestion to see the horses,” the Aldermaston said. “Now, let us conclude this unseemly episode as quickly as possible. Ask the girls, sheriff, if they have seen a wounded knight, squire, or any other such person on the Abbey grounds and, more specifically, inside my kitchen. Your accusation has already caused an inordinate amount of commotion at Muirwood. I would prefer we end it.”

The sheriff approached, his gait smooth and graceful despite his size. He approached Lia directly, and she met his quizzical expression with a look of defiance. The expression on his face was unexpected. He stared at her, at her face, with a strange look – a familiar look – a look that said much, but said it in a language she did not understand.

“I too would also like to end this farce as soon as possible. If you would be so kind as to leave us, Aldermaston.”

Lia swallowed. The man was demanding the Aldermaston leave?

“I will not,” the Aldermaston said, his voice turning hard. “I will not allow you to threaten anyone in this abbey.”

“Threaten her?” said the sheriff, coming even closer to Lia. “You mistake me, Aldermaston. And you injure my tender feelings. If the report I heard is true, and if you are harboring a fugitive in your kitchen, my questioning would be best posed to the girl alone where you cannot influence her answers. I am sure she would say anything to protect you.”

“This is nonsense and ingratitude,” Pasqua said, bristling. She clenched a long spoon in her hand like a weapon. “This is my kitchen. The doors are locked every night. I will not hear another word of this nonsense. You are tearing this place asunder before my own eyes. Your soldiers are looting my stores. Now begone, you rascals! I’ll not let you lay a hand on either of these children. Now let her go. Let her go!” Pasqua swatted at the one holding Sowe, and he hastily backed away from her. She stood between them.

“I wish to speak to the girls alone,” the sheriff said, his voice calm, his eyes earnest.

“You will not,” Pasqua said. “Ask what you will, but you will in my presence.”

“Your cook has spirit, Aldermaston,” the sheriff said.