The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

The charging horsemen were almost on Demont’s men. A murmuring groan rose up from the field. A collective gasp before the clash.

He is delivered into your hands or Demont’s army will fall.

The bowstring twanged and the arrow flew. Suddenly the king jerked straight, the arrow catching him in a chink of armor in his neck, then he toppled off the horse. The battle flag of Pry-Ree dropped from the dead man’s fingers, its end stabbing into the hilltop and the wind caught the banner and unfurled it. The power of the Medium surged from Lia into the battle flag, and then spilled throughout the field below, gushing from her like a Leering stone, spreading a web of safety with the breeze.

Spears appeared amidst Demont’s soldiers. As the ends were jammed into the ground, the sharp heads lifted, greeting the horsemen with a row of teeth. The stampede of hooves could not stop in time. A razor edge of spear tips awaited them – a crush of men and beasts and steel. Had the spears been there all along, hidden in the grass?

She watched the horses crunch against the teeth of steel until she could bear no longer the sight of it, or endure the flood of power that was burning her alive. The weight of the Medium crushed her again and she blacked out.



“It is the mind that makes the body rich. As the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, so does honor peer in the meanest habit. A maston is as unhappy or as happy as he has convinced himself he is.”





- Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey



*





CHAPTER THIRTY ONE:


The Fallen





Lia awoke to the prodding of a staff into the small of her back. “Wake up. Wake up, sister. It is over and I am finished scriving. You missed the rest. Can you hear me? Eh? Wake up!”

It was Maderos. Lia sat up slowly, her head a fog of thoughts. Drained – she was completely empty inside. Opening her eyes, she looked over at him, seated on the ground near her on the hillside next to the battlefield. Maderos brushed the crinkled shavings of aurichalcum from the tome on his lap. He looked down at the words again, running his fingers over the etchings, as if savoring some delicious dish. When he saw he had her attention, he spoke softly, clearly.

“The battle of Winterrowd did not last past the morning, and then it was over. The field next to the village was littered with the slaughter. Many from the defeated army of the king escaped into the Bearden Muir, rather than be captured or ransomed, but many were devoured by the moors instead of men. In tales to come, many will ascribe the glory of victory to Garen Demont and to the peculiar arrangement of his soldiers and tactics. How they shied horses and used rings of spears to protect each other. Others will say it was because Demont only allowed mastons to serve him, that they were worthy to call upon the Medium to deliver them from the king’s wrath. These are near to the truth. The husk but not the kernel. The battle of Winterrowd was won by a wretched from Muirwood Abbey. None of the witnesses of the battle ever knew about her or what she did that day, how she used the Medium to defy the army of a king. No one but I alone and those who read this record. The world may never know the secret. But I, Maderos, know the secret just as I know the wretched. I will not reveal her name.”

Then he closed the tome and set it back in the sheepskin with the scriving tools, folded the sheepskin, and lifted the heavy tome back into his pack. Lia watched, a little jealous still of his ability to read. She wanted to read the other things he had written. She eyed the tome with hunger and then the thought slammed against her like a blacksmith’s hammer.

“How many of Demont’s men fell in the battle?” she asked him.

“How many pethets? Perhaps they all deserved to die. But you will learn soon enough, little sister.” He slowly stood, resting his arms on the twisted staff he had poked her with.

“The king’s army - it was defeated then?”

Maderos nodded, then waved his staff at the field. “It was a slaughter, just as I told you. Do not suppose that Demont’s men did not suffer for their victory. There is not a man among them who is not injured, bleeding, or weary. Each fought bravely. But they do not know why they won.” His eyes narrowed pointedly. “They would not believe you, even if you told them.”

“You sound like the Aldermaston,” Lia said grudgingly.

He smirked. “Perhaps that is so. Perhaps I have lingered near Muirwood too long now. I knew when I saw you, sister. The Medium made it clear to me that you would help overthrow the kingdom. It is in your blood, I think. Go find the pethet, child. Go down amidst the corpses.”

“Is he dead?” She didn’t want Maderos to leave her alone. Her stomach turned into ice. She wanted him to stay and answer questions, to calm her sudden panic. But she recognized he would never reveal more than he should.