The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

“You would go with me to the battle field? And then what will you do?” He shook his head, muttering darkly. “This sheriff will hunt us. He wants you. You. I do not know why, but he is determined to have you. He hardly seemed to care that he arrested me. It is you he wants. A wretched. He kept asking about you. He is arguing with the Aldermaston to turn you over to him.”


Lia’s stomach, which was just beginning to untwist as they left the room, coiled again. “Why would he…?”

“Several reasons I can think of and I have had nothing to do but think since I was arrested. You should be hiding. And yet here you are, in the lion’s maw. When you came into the room, I swear…” He shut his eyes, looking more furious than ever.

“I came to help you!” she scolded. “I promised you I would. I keep my promises. If the king is coming to kill you, I will not let that happen, not if I can stop it.” She tugged her arm free, but he let her go. “We are wasting words. When we get away, then we can talk it over.” Her feelings were hurt – she had hoped he would offer to protect her, to offer her sanctuary in his earldom. He had not.

“Agreed.”

At the end of the hall there were steps descending. As they started down, the sound of others coming up met them. Men’s voices. One of them, Lia recognized.

“A mob, I tell you. By Idumea’s hand, the fools. Better ride out while we still can. Who cares about the girl when we have the other prize.”

“You tell Almaguer I will stay behind and find the wretched. I know this abbey. She cannot hide from me for long.”

“Tell the sheriff yourself, Scarseth. Let us fetch the stripling and ride back to Shefton and meet the king. I do not think it matters which village the boy dies in.”

Lia froze in the stairwell. She recognized the thief’s voice. Now she knew his name. She was so sure – so sure she would have enough time to get him out of the Pilgrim. Three sets of boots came up the stairs, were almost at the top. There were three sleeping men in the room at the end of the hall. Three men down below but coming quickly up. There was no more time to think. It was time to act, but she had no ideas and Colvin had no sword. Helplessly, frantically, she froze as their heads appeared from the stairs below.

“I am telling you, if the mob riots, we will not make it out of town unscathed. The Aldermaston has all the power here. These villagers count on him, not Mendenhall. I told Almaguer not to confront him over the girl.”

“Well, you are wasting breath with me. There are twenty of us with swords and hauberks, and if we leave a river of blood, then it is the Medium’s fault. No one challenges Almaguer’s authority in this Hundred. Aldermaston or no.”

Lia saw their faces. It was over. She had done her best but it had only made things worse. Now both she and Colvin would be captured by the sheriff’s…

It happened so quickly, she nearly shrieked with surprise. Colvin yanked the tray from her hands and threw it at the sheriff’s men below. Warm broth and water splashed, the crockery shattered, and the tray itself struck like a catapult stone, toppling one of them back into another in the narrow stairwell. Colvin leapt down the full flight of stairs, and Lia clutched the rail and watched.

Curses, shrieks, grunts, crunches. The sheriff’s men fought back, fought for their lives. There was no room or time to draw swords – the stairwell was all a tumble of arms and legs, of fists and chins and red-specked spittle. The force of Colvin’s attack toppled the two men and Scarseth. Blood gushed from one man’s nose, and Lia thought she saw a tooth fly from his mouth and rattle and drop down the stairwell like a pebble.

“Brickolm! Brickolm!” the other screamed, but Colvin grabbed his arm, pulling him closer, and silenced his cries by encircling his neck and throat with his arm. With a twirl, the man went head first into the wall and dropped like a sack.

Scarseth, dripping with broth and looking horrorstruck, scrambled down the steps. Lia started after him, but Colvin was already there, jumping and grappling him as he wriggled to free himself and both tumbled down the stairs.

The thief cried out in pain, then, “I swear it, I can help you! Do not kill me! I can help you!”

Scarseth raised his hands up, palms open, trembling like a shiver in winter, his eyes wild and fearful, blood dripping from his lip. “Almaguer is coming back now. A dozen men. You will not get free if you waste time on me. Please, for the love of Idumea, you are Demont’s sworn man. I know you are. Not even he murdered. Please, for the love of Idumea, spare me!”

Lia reached them both, staring into the thief’s blazing eyes. He looked up at her, recognized her, then closed his eyes shut as if he knew he was going to die.

“This belongs to my family,” Colvin said with revulsion and fury mingling in his expression. His eyes blazed with hatred. He drew the maston sword from Scarseth’s scabbard, the blade that Lia had admired. She stood there, helpless again, seeing the flesh at the thief’s throat constrict as he swallowed