The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(34)

“You know the history of the Mark’s Family, do you not?” Jon Tayt said.

Maia smiled and walked back to Preslee, stroking her soft neck and wishing, against all hope, that somehow she could keep her. It was a foolish thought. The whim of the spoiled princess she had once been.

“It is a famous story, Jon Tayt. Yes, I know it.”

The kishion walked up. “I do not. Tell me.”

Maia was not surprised. The kishion were trained in fighting and murder, not history. She wiped the hair from her eyes and faced him, gripping the saddle pommel and preparing to mount.

“When the mastons left these shores before the Scourge, one of my ancestors, Lia Demont, made a prophecy of sorts about the Earl of Dieyre. She cursed him to survive the Scourge. She said that he would be the last man left in this land, and that he would live to see her words fulfilled. He was a noble from Comoros who fought in the civil wars that followed the Scourge, but he was also invested with a rank in Dahomey. He eventually married, though he always searched for Lia’s sister-in-law, Marciana Price, the one woman he truly loved. She had fled the shores with the mastons. Dieyre ultimately married a noblewoman from Dahomey, the Queen Dowager’s younger sister, thus inheriting even more lands in Dahomey. Because of his prowess on the battlefield, he continued to gain rank in both realms and eventually overthrew the King of Dahomey. Then he overthrew Comoros. One by one, the kingdoms fell, and Dieyre proclaimed himself emperor of all seven kingdoms.”

They both stared at her, listening to her words. As she spoke, she could almost hear the clash of blades. There were screams far distant, as if the very ground had gorged itself on too much blood. Maia shuddered, feeling sick.

“Say on,” Jon Tayt asked, his voice thick.

“The Scourge was raging by then, destroying the people with a terrible plague. Yet still Dieyre fought. He was driven from his throne three times, and three times he returned with an army to reclaim it. It is believed that the final battle happened in Dahomey; it is said there was a mass slaughter that only he survived. He was nearly disfigured with scars and fainted from the loss of blood. Yet he survived, the last man, just as Lia had predicted he would. He wandered the kingdoms, searching in vain for another living soul. There were none. All had either perished by the sword or by the Scourge.”

A feeling of blackness swelled in her heart. It was a terrible story. One that had always afflicted her. What would it have been like, she had wondered, to be the last man on earth? To see the fulfillment of a maston prophecy that had proved unavoidable? She cringed at the memory, feeling sympathy for the lonely creature he must have been.

Maia swung up into the saddle, feeling the black history taint her mood. She stared down at the kishion and Jon Tayt. Both looked back at her with grave expressions, clearly wondering if there was more. There was.

“You see, Emperor Dieyre—as he called himself—was the last man . . . until the Naestors came. They first discovered the ruins of Comoros and Pry-Ree. They sent ship after ship, investigating the ruined kingdoms. These were longboats, not the large sailing ships that the mastons left on. Eventually, they found Dieyre, ruling in the ruins of a desolate castle in Hautland. He was old by then. He lived among them for only nine months before he died. It was he who taught them to read the tomes they plundered. Some were maston tomes that had been secreted away. Some were tomes from the Dochte Mandar. In a way, the Naestors blended the two, learning how to control the Medium in proper ways through use of the kystrels. The Dochte Mandar among us now are not the same as the ones who lived during the days of the Scourging, though they kept the name.”

“By Cheshu,” Jon Tayt said in a small voice. “That is quite a tale, is it not? How much of it is true, I wonder?”

“Even the mastons believe it is true, Jon Tayt. When they returned, they found the Naestors inhabiting their lands. Many could speak the ancient languages, or at least well enough to communicate.” Maia stroked Preslee’s mane. “But Dieyre had left a prophecy of his own before he died. He told the Naestors that a woman with a child of his seed had gone with the mastons. He named that child’s posterity as his heir, the heirs of his empire.”

“By the Blood,” the kishion swore softly. “The greedy Mark is his kin?”

Maia nodded. “Do you understand why I must flee Dahomey as quickly as I can? If the Mark captures me, he will claim my birthright as the king’s daughter to win another kingdom for himself. The Mark wishes to rule all the kingdoms, as Dieyre once did. I have just told you what happened when one man tried to do that.”

“Everyone perished,” Jon Tayt said flatly.




They reached the town of Briec well before sunset, having ridden hard for the remainder of the day. The town was fenced in by a low, crumbled wall that would not have repulsed an army of any size. Jon Tayt explained how the towns farther north were all heavily fortified and had seen battles throughout the years as the various kingdoms plundered one another.

The town was not large enough to have its own abbey or castle, but the main inn served as the largest and most distinctive structure in town. There were at least six gabled roofs in the same style she had seen in Roc-Adamour, except the main building looked like six of the long, narrow Roc-Adamour buildings smashed together into one. Each gabled roof had a different style and size, and several jutted out at odd angles. A large central chimney rose above all the roofs and vented a cloud of smoke. The stables were adjoined to the inn, and they found a stable boy ready to take their mounts from them.