He looked at her seriously. “Just over a thousand. They do not fear death, Your Majesty. They believe the Medium will save them as it did Garen Demont at Winterrowd. They asked if I would lead them,” he said in a humble voice. He gripped his flanged mace, his look serious and imposing. “And so I have agreed. The Medium bids me to rescue the Earl of Caspur’s men and see them safely to Muirwood. I have asked Richard to stand in on my behalf.”
“Then you must go,” Maia said. She felt her throat tighten as she glanced again at the column before her. She lifted her hand in the maston sign, and the soldiers stopped and bowed their heads. “Young men of Assinica, I Gift you with courage and strength,” she said in a clear, calm voice. “I Gift you with obedience, that you may fulfill every command and charge given you. Go forth, defenders of Muirwood. The Medium will go with you, as will this blessing. Make it thus so.”
She heard a rippling murmur through the ranks as she lowered her arm. They were so young. As Aldermaston Wyrich nudged his horse and the march continued, Maia waited until the last row passed her, staring into their faces, seeing their determination. Her heart clenched with heaviness as she wondered how many of them would return. These were unseasoned, untrained young men, and though she had not heeded the kishion, his words had penetrated. The enemy was fierce.
As the dust from their marching began to settle, she could just make out the form of Mendenhall Keep in the distance. Behind it stretched the tangled woods of the Bearden Muir.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Refuge
Though Maia had visited Muirwood Abbey almost nightly for the past months, she rarely left the abbey grounds, so what she found outside its walls startled her. Since Whitsunday, the village of Muirwood had expanded to the size of a town. She could not believe how many houses and homes had been erected in so short a time. They were fresh and new, with timbers hewn from the mighty oaks surrounding the grounds. There were several grist mills, and she heard the constant clanking of blacksmiths’ hammers and smelled sawdust and pungent dross. Little shops teeming with crafts and art had been assembled along the main roads. There was music amidst the pounding, the trill of flutes and the melodic tones of harps and dulcimers.
There were also hundreds of tents and pavilions within the bounds of the woods, and Maia watched with fascination as the citizens of Muirwood—particularly those from Assinica—warmly greeted the refugees from Comoros. Each cluster of tents had Leerings for fire and water, and everywhere there were cakes sizzling on pans, dishes being scrubbed in tubs of water, and other chores underway.
As Maia rode her palfrey down the main street, she was greeted warmly by smiling, tranquil faces that seemed more as if they were preparing to celebrate Whitsunday than for an invasion.
“My lady,” said a woman who reached up from the street and handed her a honeyed cake. Maia thankfully accepted it and took a bite. It was stuffed with sweetened berries that made her hungry for more. Each shop was small, and they were bunched tight together with the living quarters perched above. The shingles were fresh and still smelled pleasantly of the wood that had constructed them. The streets were cobbled, which amazed her, and the stones were flat with gentle rounded edges, which reduced the noise from the clatter of wheels and hooves.
She craned her neck, marveling at the progress their cousins from Assinica had made in establishing a thriving community in the swamp. There were dikes and ditches draining away the swamp water, and she could discern large swaths of fields that had already been plowed and seeded. The woods were thinner now, but the land surrounding the abbey was still lush and thick with greenery. In the distance, she could see the tower on the Tor rising above it all, and the glint of metal-shod soldiers marching up and down the stone steps. From that vantage point she knew they would be able to see the oncoming armies well in advance.
Maia rode next to Jon Tayt as they approached the abbey walls. As soon as they entered them, it felt as if a soft blanket had been tucked around her shoulders. She tugged gently on the reins, bringing her faithful mount to a stop as she breathed in the scents of home and felt the weariness drip away from her soul. This was a bastion, a refuge, a place of peace.
“I have almost grown fond of this muddy place, by Cheshu,” Jon Tayt drawled. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his glove. “It is not Pry-Ree, mind you, but it will do in a trice. Ah, there is the Aldermaston again in his gray robes. Richard Syon looks like a content man at long last. Being here has lifted years from his gray head.”
Maia saw Richard and Joanna walking toward them, both dressed in the gray cassock of the Aldermaston order. Richard also wore the chain and stole of his office as chancellor, but she knew he would not feel comfortable being on the grounds of Muirwood in his typical court attire.
Maia quickly dismounted, and Jon Tayt took her reins and began to lead the horses to the paddock. The grounds were crowded with families, and everywhere she looked, there were people doing chores. She had never seen it so busy.