Maia rubbed her eyes, careful not to rouse the kishion from his nap. Argus lay near her, she noticed, head resting on his paws. She reached out and stroked his fur, apologizing in her own way for frightening him the previous night.
Birds chirped in the tree heights, and the drone of insects offered the illusion of tranquility. The woods were full of the king’s men, she realized. But the woods were vast. It would not be easy for the others to find them if they held very still.
As she stroked Argus, she thought about Walraven again, remembering him with fondness as well as sadness. His actions—his sacrifice—had resulted in the Dochte Mandar being expelled from the realm. And he had known, prophetically, that things would go horribly wrong.
The news of evil had begun with his death. Her father had summoned Walraven to Comoros to stand trial for treason. Everyone knew that he would be condemned and executed, for his own hand had betrayed him. But Walraven took ill on the journey and died of a fever and chills before reaching the city. His body was interred in an ossuary in a mausoleum. There were whispers that he had been poisoned, but the coroners found no evidence of that. Because he had died a traitor, his lands and wealth were forfeited to the Crown. The Dochte Mandar were all given a fortnight to vacate the realm or risk execution.
When they left, the devastation began.
Word came next of a pack of wild boars roaming the hinterlands, besetting villages and killing children. The hunters sent to destroy the pack had failed. Wolves began marauding through the woods as well. Without the Dochte Mandar, the many Leerings in the kingdom were useless, forcing people to carry water or harvest fuel for fire. There were mastons, of course, who could and did use them, but their number was small compared with the Dochte Mandar. The extra work angered the people—a feeling that began to fester.
Soon riots broke out across the kingdom, but that was not the worst of it—tales started to pour in from around the realm, each more horrid than the last. A man with a scythe had gone on a rampage in his village, killing innocent villagers. A mother had drowned her three children in a well. A young man had set fire to a barn full of his village’s grain right before winter. It seemed that every fortnight, another tale of woe would arrive, and the court would gossip and statutes would be passed forbidding this or that. But while a deadly spring that poisoned all who drank from it could be cleansed, this madness kept no pattern. No, it was mercurial and erratic, which meant no one knew when or where the next tragedy would strike. The only commonality was that such things had never occurred under the gaze of the Dochte Mandar. Expelling them from the realm had fundamentally altered Comoros. The people began to fear it was another Blight.
Maia brushed her hair back from her ear, listening to the clicking noise of a series of insects speaking to each other across the vastness of the woods.
Suddenly Argus’s head lifted and his ears shot up. His pale fur twitched. A low growl rumbled in his throat.
Maia reached over and touched the kishion’s knee.
His eyes opened immediately.
“I am sorry—”
She pressed her fingers against her own mouth, signaling for him to be silent.
He rubbed his eyes and shifted forward onto one knee, cocking his head. Then, motioning for her to stay put, he stepped into the soft mud of the creek. The water did not even go up to his knees, but it muffled his footsteps as he ducked under the fallen tree and disappeared from sight. Maia felt a rumble in Argus’s throat and she patted him to quiet him. His ears quivered and his tail had stopped wagging.
The kishion returned shortly thereafter and motioned for her to join him in the water. She grabbed her pack and followed, plunging into the cold water, mud churning beneath her boots. She ducked under the bridge of the fallen tree, trying to keep her cloak from being soaked along with her skirts, and came through into sunlight and solid land on the other side. A bird fluttered past, trilling a song.
The kishion awaited her just past the tree.
“I hear voices coming this way,” he whispered in her ear. “Keep low and follow.”
Maia obeyed, hunching down and following him as he trailed along the creek, staying inside the lapping waters. The ferns offered some cover, but she knew it was not much. Her heart thrummed with anxiety. Argus, who trailed behind her, wagged his tail and stared into the woods.
A few moments later, she could make out Jon Tayt’s voice.
“I tell you, I have not seen a soul these last three days except for you lads. If I had, I would tell you. I am just a humble woodsman who fells trees for a living. Do you think the king would hire me? I can split wood faster than any man—”
“Be silent!” barked another voice. “Can you not stop talking?”
“If that pleases you, my lord. I was just saying that an army needs wood for fires, does it not? I can cut a cord of wood faster than you can put on your boots.”
Maia smiled in spite of herself. She recognized that Jon Tayt had been captured and was trying to warn her by talking loudly.
“Be still, man!” said another, cuffing him.