The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

“Use the orb. He is down there. Then you must return to Muirwood. The Aldermaston expects you. There, I have said it. The Aldermaston expects you. That should be enough.”


Lia rose, sick with worry, and brushed dirt from her skirt, though it was still filthy. She saw soldiers wandering through the mist and fields below. It was littered with the dead.



Find Colvin.

Lia focused on the orb and her thoughts of him and not on the carnage of the battlefield or her throbbing ankle. She tried calming her raging heart and brushed unwilling tears from her eyes. Wagons from the village lumbered amidst the scene, and bodies were stacked and brought to the center of the field. It was strange seeing little children milling about, gazing at the corpses, unafraid. The morning haze burned away slowly, leaving wisps of smoke and fog about the hinterlands.

The smell in the air – there was no way to describe the smell of death. She had been raised in an Abbey kitchen and knew her work by the way things smelled. The smell of loaves finished baking. The smell of cinders and ash as she swept out the fireplaces. Of fragrant spices and pungent aromas mixed, matched, baked, and burned. The stench of the field was overpowering. She gagged, even after she covered her mouth with her hand.

The spindle on the orb led her into the thickest part of the battlefield. New writing appeared on it. Lia stopped, looked ahead, searching the faces of the dead men, and then saw Colvin approaching through the haze. He walked ponderously, as if he dragged a weight of stones behind him. His face was black with smoke and scabs, his tunic a mess of stains, but his smile when he saw her was radiant. It was the sunrise after an endless night. As he drew near, she saw the gleaming collar, the jeweled necklace dangling from his neck and thumping against the mail of his hauberk.

After tugging off his blood-stained gloves, he stuffed them into his belt. His fingers were caked with dirt. But his smile – it was thrilling to see. She wanted to touch him, to know he was real, but shyness forbade her. Relief engulfed her and she bit her tongue to keep from sobbing.

“Have you heard the news, Lia?” he asked her, his smile beaming.

“What is it?” she said, thrilled to see him alive. Her heart felt like bursting.

He shook his head, as if it were too delicious to speak. “The old king is dead. His son and heir was captured on the field. They are already calling him the young king. He is in Demont’s tent right now. I just came from there myself. Demont is declared Lord Protector of the realm.” One of his hands strayed up, fondling the collar and its jeweled symbol. “Lia, I was just made a knight-maston. Just now, by the young king’s hand. A knight-maston of the order of Winterrowd. The earldom of my father will be granted in a ceremony soon. Lia – I never believed…I never hoped…it feels like a dream. That I will awaken and it is dawn and the battle has not happened yet. Is it…is it real?”

She wanted him to throw his arms around her and hug her, but he did not. She smiled to hide her pang of disappointment. “Must I now call you Sir Colvin? And curtsy when I see you?”

His smile did not dim. “No, Lia. Never. The Medium spared my life because of you. My doubts would have killed me. They should have killed me. But whenever I feared, I thought on you.” He looked around, as if realizing they were standing in the middle of death itself. “Come – this is no place for you. Walk with me back to my tent and hide that orb. Come, take my arm. Cover your head with the cowl and try not to look. It is a grisly scene.”

He led her back through the failing mists, talking briskly as he marched. “I felt your warning last night about the imposters coming around the rear. I warned Demont that I had a feeling we would be ambushed from behind. It was a stroke of good favor at that dark hour. When the riders appeared, there were only a few and they came claiming to join our force. I think they were there to stab Demont. One offered to show him his hand, which is a ritual mastons do to prove one another, but Demont asked to see his chaen shirt instead. The man balked, for he was wearing a medallion and his skin was tainted by its brand. When they saw they could not deceive us, they tried to fight their way clear, but we easily mastered them and learned of others in the woods and captured them as well.”