The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(32)

Maia walked up to Preslee and stroked her flanks, murmuring softly as she did so. “Did you check the hooves for pebbles?” she asked.

“I always do that first,” he said with a tight nod. “No sense saddling a lame horse. The hooves are hale and sound. The stables had a dozen other beasts in addition to these. The king likes to have fresh horses for hunting.”

Maia fetched a bag of provender from the saddle and started to feed her horse, grabbing a hunk of bread for herself. Preslee nuzzled the bag and began nickering with delight. Maia wished she had an apple to give her as well.

“I can do that, my lady,” Jon Tayt said, giving her a confused smile.

“I miss having my own horses,” Maia explained, shaking her head. “I always cared for my own. I know the right way to saddle them as well, Master Tayt.”

“Ah, but do you know the right way to throw an axe, my lady?”

She looked over her shoulder at the hunter, her lips pursed.

“I see you do not.” He gave a deep laugh. “You were taught languages, dancing, horsemanship, hawking, diplomacy, and either the lute or the virginal.”

“The lute, virginal, and the regal,” Maia corrected. “I was also taught Paeizian fencing.”

Jon Tayt snorted. “You and Collier share that in common then. He is a strong advocate for Paeizian fencing—hence the nickname. However, I can kill any Paeizian fencer with an axe from thirty paces away. Shameful they taught you to play the virginal and not how to throw an axe!” He grinned and then bellowed with laughter.

“You have convinced me that my education is incomplete,” Maia answered, enjoying the look on his face. “You must teach me.”

He clapped Chacewater on the flanks and started to give him a brisk rubdown. “Let me finish saddling the horses first. Always best to be prepared to ride and ride quickly. Take a brace of axes to that maypole stump and I will show you there. Hup, easy boy.”

Maia fetched two axes lying next to his rucksack and she carried them across the green to the charred maypole stump. She noticed the kishion scouting the grounds, looking as sullen and surly as usual. But her feelings about his sternness and solitary ways had evolved considerably over the past weeks. While he was not affable like Jon Tayt, she had found herself admiring his determination, survival instincts, and even his constant closeness. She was grateful to have both men as her protectors.

Argus trotted up to her as she reached the maypole, and she crouched to greet him. He was guarded with her, not as playful as he was normally, and she realized that the magic of the kystrel had frightened him away.

“It is well, Argus,” she said coaxingly. “I will not harm you.”

The boarhound sniffed at the grass near her before shifting his attention to her face. She stroked him, remembering her own spaniels and puppies as a child. She used to have a livery, men who wore her badge and colors—blue and forest green—horses and maidservants and advisors and cooks and hawks and longbows and Pry-rian fletched arrows. Everything she could have desired had been hers, and in abundance. All that had been stripped away when she was banished. And she had not even been banished to a distant castle or sent off to an abbey where she might have become a maston. She had been forced to watch as every luxury that had been taken from her was bestowed on Lady Deorwynn’s daughters.

Argus’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as he panted. She stroked his coat, jealous of the simplicity of Jon Tayt’s life.

“You are spoiling my hound,” he muttered as he approached. “You should kick him almost as often as you pet him.”

“You do not do that,” Maia commented wryly, standing.

There was a smile in his voice. “Of course not, lass. He has saved my life. More than once, truth be told. You do not kick a dog who has saved your life. I want you to kick him so that he stops fawning over you all the time. He seeks to please you. Yes, Argus—do not deny it! I can see it. Shameful.” He tossed the hound a bit of dried meat, and Argus loped away to start gnawing at it.

“I am more suited for a dog’s company than a person’s,” Jon Tayt admitted, drawing one of the axes from his belt. He flipped it and caught it by the handle. “I like to talk and Argus likes to listen.”

“A fitting pair you two make,” Maia agreed.

He smiled at her. “I like you, Lady Maia. Nary a whine or a whimper from you since we left the village named after my dog. Only when you sleep.” He took a step forward and hurled the axe, which spun lethally end over end until it buried itself in the center of the burnt maypole with an ominous thuck.

“You step forward with the opposite leg as you release. You want to be at least five paces away from your target at first. Work on accuracy at short distances. Then go farther and farther back. You want to cluster them if you can.” He threw the second axe and it bit into the wood right next to the first. He smiled at himself and walked up to the post to yank them both free.

“The blade should spin twice before striking the post. If you are too close, you will hit with the haft. That could crack a man’s nose, true, but I would prefer to split his head open.”

He walked back to where she stood. “Let me show you again. Hold the haft here,” he said, gesturing with one of the weapons. “Feel the weight of it. I sharpen these blades every other day so they will stick when they hit. No use carrying a dull axe. They can even deflect a sword, like so.” He demonstrated a parry with one of the axes and then swept the other toward her neck, slowing the blow as it came near her. “Always carry three or four. It does not take long to yank one loose from a dead man and throw it again.”