The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

He suffered her insolence with a grin, shaking his head, then loped back through the twisted oaks the way they came, holding his bow close against his body with an arrow ready.

She turned back and found Colvin kneeling at the Leering, his head under its gushing waters, nearly shivering while scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. The stallion grazed at the stiff grass. With a thought, she brought a little fire to the water – not too much – not to scald him.

“Hot,” he said, his fingers scouring through his hair.

“Hot cleans better,” she replied with a grin, approaching the other way. Water pattered on the muddy ground, taking his dirt and grime away. She knew him better – knew of his jealousy, his impatience. Something had changed between them. His compassion towards her – the tears in his eyes as he stared at her. Something was different. But still she hesitated near him, afraid he might recoil at her again.

“Here, it will go faster if I help you,” she said, scrubbing the top of his head as she did for Sowe. He froze for a moment, the water dripping down his face from his nose. It was warm water. What they needed was some soap.

He hiked up his sleeves and scrubbed his arms while she combed his hair with her fingers and tried to chafe away layers of dirt, scaly skin, and chalky crusts from his neck. His shirt and tunic were soon soaked as well, hugging against the chaen beneath.

“Let me see your eyebrow, Colvin.”

He looked up at her, swept his dripping hair back, and he looked like someone else. A thin half-formed beard outlined his jaw and mouth. Using the hem of her cloak, she sponged up some hot water and then wiped at the scab along his eyebrow. He winced, clenched his teeth, as she cleaned the wound. It did not bleed, but it would scar. The woad had kept it closed.

“There. You smell better too,” she said, smiling. “I am pleased it is healing. Your sister will hardly notice the scar when you return.”

“She has a gift for astuteness. As do you.”

“I like to think I am shrewd. My pride does anyway. I am filthy as well, so help me wash so we can go. We should not tarry long.”

“Help you?” he said, swallowing. His eyes looked panicked.

She coiled up her hair. “Hold this up. That is all. Sowe normally helps me, but you will have to do. If you are not too proud to serve a wretched girl.”

The water was warm and pleasant, but she liked it hotter still and thought more on the fire. Steam rose from the Leering. Its eyes glowed red. Washing was something she was good at, and quick, and it did not take long to chafe her arms and her neck while Colvin held her hair up. She wiped her face furiously, hoping to get away the smudges and dirt caked in the seams.

“Let my hair fall,” she said finally, enjoying the burn of the water as it ran down her scalp. She fussed her hair, smoothing it down with the water until the water dripping from the ends ran clear. Then fishing the ring from her bodice, she washed it until the gold gleamed and sparkled, then stuffed it away again. The metal band was warm against her skin.

“If only Pasqua had packed my other dress,” she said, squeezing excess water from wavy hair. Hers was ripped, tattered at the hem, and filthy. It used to be blue. Now it was a grayish green color. “You have hardly spoken today,” Lia said as they walked around to the stallion. “You have hardly said ten words since we left this morning and it is nearly dusk.”

“You were talking to your friend,” he replied, gathering the reins and stroking the mane. “I did not want to intrude.”

“You can trust Jon,” Lia said.

“Trusting anyone does not come easily to me. Even you – it took time before I did trust you, remember?”

“So you admit you trust me now?”

“You have proven your faithfulness, Lia. I require that before I give my trust to anyone. I will requite it in my own way, I promise you.”

She reached for the pouch with the Cruciger orb and untied the strings while Colvin fed another apple to the horse. After tugging open the strings, she withdrew the orb and again thought the words – show us the safe road to Winterrowd.

Nothing happened.

For a moment, there was panic that she had failed again, but there was no doubt or fear in her heart this time. Nothing that should have barred the Medium from touching her thoughts.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

Words in the same cryptic language appeared in the lower portion of the orb. The spindles did not move, they floated as if a duck on a lake.

Show me the road to Winterrowd, she thought, and the spindles turned and pointed to the northwest.

“What did you do differently?” he asked.

Lia bit her lip. “I asked it to show us the safe road. It did nothing.”

The words written on the orb were meaningless, but it was as if she could feel their warning without being told the translation. The orb was warning them. There was no safe road ahead. A thrashing noise in the thicket alerted them both.

Colvin’s face turned ashen. “Almaguer’s men.”