The Naestors are a cunning people, as I have warned you. Let me paint in your mind something of the visions I have seen of the future. The whispers from the Medium speak softly. The land of the Naestors is a place of dark pools, sheathed in ice and shadows. They are not builders; they are conquerors. When they claimed our lands, they did not understand how to build castles and abbeys out of stone. They did not comprehend the workings of pulleys and levers. They inhabited our coasts first, then our cities. When the first mastons returned, the Naestors organized a council of the wisest Dochte Mandar. In your day, great-granddaughter, the Dochte Mandar advise political rulers. They also proselytize a different doctrine than the mastons’. Some manipulate themselves into positions of great responsibility. This council was the start of all that.
Some of the Dochte Mandar advocated war with the mastons. Others advocated abandoning their spoils completely and retreating to the north. The wisest one prevailed. He was also the most cunning of the Dochte Mandar. His name was Victus. He advised that the mastons be greeted as the true rulers of the lands. Each kingdom was given a Family to rule over it. They sought to learn from us, to discover our secrets of the reading and engraving of tomes, the building of structures, and the carving of Leerings. They would watch us and learn from us. And when they had seen the completion of the first abbey, when they had gleaned the knowledge they craved, they would rise up and seek to destroy us. Not through their own force. But by turning our Families against each other. The Dochte Mandar would be the puppetmasters.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER EIGHT
Escape
There was a soft tap on the door, breaking Maia’s reverie. She had been sitting at the open gabled window of the inn, staring into the night sky and watching the flickering light from lamps and torches throughout the town. Trees crowded the inn, and some of the branches came near enough that they almost touched the walls. She sat with her elbow on the sill, chin resting on her palm.
The knock startled her, and it was only then she realized she was fondling the kystrel, which hung loose over her dress. She quickly plunged the medallion back into her bodice and adjusted it to hide the whorl of shadows painted across her chest. The fabric of the burgundy gown Jon Tayt had given her was warm and comforting. She had stripped away the tattered servant’s gown and washed it in the lukewarm tub of bathwater following her own bath. Her hair was still damp, but it felt so much better to be clean.
Rising from the window, she walked to the door and raised the latch. The kishion stared at her for a moment, one eyebrow lifting as if he hardly recognized her, and then Jon Tayt followed him inside, Argus trailing after. The boarhound sniffed at her, and she dropped to one knee to caress his muzzle and head.
Jon Tayt shut the door and latched it firmly. The room was too small for so many, but the hunter had said he and Argus would be sleeping in the common room that night. The kishion would keep watch over her as she slept.
“You look a different woman, by Cheshu,” Jon Tayt said, scratching his throat. “I have some healing paste for the scratches and bruises. It will help.”
“Thank you,” Maia replied. She walked back to the window and shut it, resting against the sill. “I am grateful for the bath. It was overdue.”
He glanced at the edge of the tub, where her wet dress was folded. “Ah, and you washed the other dress. Let it hang by the brazier to dry in the night. You will need it again when we try to cross the mountains. Always have layers. In the morning, I will fetch the supplies we need early so we can be on our way. The king’s army may be thirty leagues away, but that is closer than I would like.”
“What do you make of what Collier told us tonight?” Maia asked him, but she included the kishion in her look, seeking his input as well.
“Part threat, part warning,” the hunter said. He sniffed and shrugged. “These mountains are vast, my lady. And I know a few trails that the king knows not. Some are more dangerous than others. I was warning your friend—”
The kishion interrupted. “He knows a pass into Mon that no one takes or guards. There is a grey rank there, he says.”
“My lady, a grey rank is worse than a bear. In Pry-Ree, they are called the Fear Liath. They prey on the mind as well as the flesh. It is possible to cross the pass if you start at sunrise and make it through while there is daylight. The risk is being caught on the other side after dusk. These things move with wicked speed.”
“We know,” Maia said, her heart cringing with the memories.
He stared at her, slack-jawed.
“We faced one already,” Maia said. “It sounds like the best route to avoid the sentries, so we must take it.”
“Lady Maia,” Jon Tayt said, stepping near her. His eyes were earnest. “I have faced nearly every beast or creature that roams the woods. I fear very little, not storms or shadows or even hulking bears. But I do dread the Fear Liath, and I cannot protect you from one. Neither can he.”
“It is as you said, we will travel during the day and cross the mountains before dusk.”
“It is a hard journey, my lady.”