The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

“That was very generous of him,” Lia said, wide-eyed.

“An act of clemency that made him practically as famous as his father. Rumor has it, Lia, that he is back from fighting foreign wars, that he has come to raise an army to topple the king who killed his father. The thought of Sevrin Demont’s son, like his father revived, coming to our realm has the whole kingdom ablaze with a thousand different rumors. So this may be rumor only. He may still be leagues and leagues away serving a foreign king. But from what I heard the sheriff’s men say, they are not treating it as an idle report. The full host of the king’s army musters and marches on Winterrowd. As I told you before, there will be another slaughter.”

Lia was desperate to see the armiger, tell him what she had learned. “Why will they be slaughtered?”

“No one has defeated the king in twenty years of battles since Maseve, although many have tried. His battle flags bring fear to his enemies, for he flaunts the flags of his foes amidst his own standard. No army who has faced him, not even Sevrin Demont himself, has won. From what the soldiers were muttering in their cups last night, only the younger knights and squires are joining Demont. The experienced ones, the ones who have fought for the king all these years, are paid and fed. They know his kind of war. Let me say again that there are but few, if any, knight-mastons among them.”

“I need to go,” Lia said, gathering up her cloak and shaking the grass off it.

“Lia,” Duerden said, shifting awkwardly, then rose with her. “Can I ask you something first?”

“What is it?”

He fidgeted with his sleeve, tugging it taut. “When you said you would dance with me at the Whitsun Fair…I want you to know that…you realize that I would have told you all this anyway. You need not make me any promises. I would…I should like to dance with you…but I do not want you to feel coerced.”

Lia stared at him for a moment. “That was not a question.”

He swallowed. “I guess you are right.”

“I have a question for you then. Why do you only greet the girls at the abbey?”

“I…what…you mean…I greet everyone…”

“No you do not. I have seen you. We can be walking together and talking, and you will greet another girl who passes by, but never one of the boys. Why?”

He was flummoxed. His face turned red.

Lia clasped the cloak around her throat. She gave him a teasing smile and then hurried away.

What she really wanted to ask him, which she dared not, was about the twisted charm she had yanked from Almaguer’s neck during the night. She would save that question for the armiger hidden in the forbidden grounds.



“The power of the Medium should never be compelled. Its power must be coaxed, persuaded, allured, invited. Throughout the generations of Family, a relationship with the Medium has formed. As each generation honors it, the union is strengthened until they gain access to the ultimate power of the Medium and free their line from the bands of death. But there are those who, because of anger, spite, jealousy, or domination, cannot engender even the briefest flicker of agreement with the Medium. To them, the power is closed because they will not yield their thoughts, their desires, their wills over to it. They think their own thoughts. They desire their own cravings. And they demand obedience to their own will. As with all things in nature, there is opposition. Sun and dark. Sweet and bitter. Courage and fear. And like the Medium, there is a means by which one can force power to obey. A fellow can compel another to serve him. It is my experience and has always proven to be the case that when humans give in to their baser instincts, they discover ways to forge a link to the Medium that is unnatural. This forging is not only figurative but literal. Those who do parade the emblem of this union from a chain around their necks.”





- Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey



*





CHAPTER ELEVEN:


Getman’s Scorn





The face on the waymarker frowned at her, a reminder that the Aldermaston would be angry if he knew she was creeping down into the ruins again. But despite the scowl, she went down anyway. The warmth of the sun on her face and arms calmed her, but her heart was aflutter with thoughts and ideas. Was she a Demont? Was that what the sheriff had hinted? Not just any family, but a famous Family? Did that explain why she could use the Medium so easily?

She ventured into the gorge and jumped down to the floating stone, gripping a linen full of foodstuffs in one hand. Clambering down each step, she hurried until her breath was harsh in her ears. The wind carried earthy smells of fragrant wild grasses, woods, moss, and dirt.

After darting inside, she found him sitting on a stone, a golden tome in his hands, his face eagerly reading each word.