The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(45)

It was then Maia realized that the kystrel was gone.

She was defenseless against the Myriad Ones, and she now understood why they were flocking so thickly to her. They were drawn to her helplessness. She could sense their greedy thoughts as they whirled beside her in the twilight, waiting for full dark to attack her, to feed on her fears, to worm their way inside her skin, to steal her will and supplant it with their own. She began to wrestle against the bonds, her terror mounting with every hammer-stroke in her chest.

“She is rousing,” one of the soldiers muttered.

“Do not speak, lass,” another warned. “Or we have orders to gag you.”

She twisted against the litter, trying to count the men. She could see a dozen or more, all wearing the tunics of Dahomey. Trailing after her litter, she could see the kishion and Jon Tayt stumbling forward, hands bound in front of them with chains, pulled along by a rope secured to their bindings. Blood smeared across half of the kishion’s face. His hooded eyes stared at her, searching her face. He said nothing. His expression was hard as stone, implacable. She knew he was plotting how to escape.

Jon Tayt was dejected, his chin lowered in shame as he walked. She could not see any weapons on him. She was surprised, and startled, to see that his boarhound had been spared. Argus padded beside him, jaws muzzled with leather straps, tail bent low between his legs. Her heart sang with relief at the sight of him, but while her friends were alive now, their futures were unsure.

The Myriad Ones hummed around her gleefully, reveling in her capture, her defenselessness.

“You found her?” came a voice from ahead. She strained to see, but her position forbade it. The jostling walk came to a halt.

“Aye, Captain. The hunt has ended. We ran her to ground.”

“We found her before Corriveaux did. Is she alive?”

“Aye, Captain. As His Majesty ordered. A little bruised, but unharmed. What do we do with the two traitors?” He snorted and spat.

“They will stretch by a rope come dawn. They butchered the watch, remember? Take them away. No food. Keep them under heavy guard. If they try to flee, kill them. Do you have her medallion?”

“It is right here, Captain.”

Maia heard the whisper of metal from the kystrel’s chain as it was placed in the captain’s hand. The Myriad Ones were gleeful, and she felt them pressing closer, snuffling against the taut fabric of the litter. It made her stomach sour.

“Set her down.”

The men carrying her litter lowered her into the brush. One of them slit the ropes at her ankles with a dagger. Two others hoisted her up onto wobbling legs. Someone steadied her. The captain carried a torch, revealing a face with a blond goatee and crooked teeth. He raised the torch and stared at her, eyeing her with animosity. The chain from her kystrel gleamed brightly in his hand.

“The king wishes to see her?” one of the soldiers asked curiously.

“Aye,” the captain said with a trace of smugness. “He’s with Feint Collier right now. Collier has seen her before, and the king wants him to identify her. She is as described.” He looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing. “Wine-colored dress. Dark hair. A beauty. The eyes are not glowing, though.” He smiled shrewdly. “I think we have the girl. If you will, lass, follow me to the king’s pavilion.”

A band of ten soldiers walked with her, flanking her from behind. Maia’s eyes were pinned to the chain dangling from the captain’s hand. Her muscles were bunched and sore, and her head still throbbed. She looked back and watched as Jon Tayt and the kishion were led a different way with Argus. It pained her to see them marched to their deaths. She grieved for them, but she was determined to plead with the king for their lives. Not that he would listen to her.

Myriad Ones were everywhere in the king’s camp. They hung over it like the smoke from the dozens of cooking fires. The men were bedding down for the night—some of the fires had spits roasting meat across them, and she could both hear the clank of cups and smell the wine within them. Everything and everyone was filthy, and she wrinkled her nose at the stench. Some of the soldiers leered at her as she passed them, others butted each other and pointed at her. She drew the eyes of everyone in the camp. Her stomach quailed with fear, but she put on a brave face. Somehow, she had to get the kystrel back. With it, she knew she could scatter the army and send them running. Without it, she was powerless.

In the center of the camp was a cluster of huge pavilions. Some were still being assembled, but the main one—the king’s—was already erect with a pennant fluttering from a pole at the center. Guards were stationed at the entrance, and she could see the lanterns illuminating the interior. The air was muggy and hot and she felt a bead of sweat trickle down her cheek. She mustered her courage, preparing to face the man she had been promised to marry as an infant.

The captain showed the kystrel to the guards stationed outside the tent. She looked away, unable to bear the sight of it in his hand, and saw several horses tethered nearby—one of them Feint Collier’s cream-colored stallion. She dreaded seeing him again under these circumstances, but maybe he could help her escape? The thought of being near him again so soon after their dance made her stomach flutter. Jon Tayt had said Collier could not be trusted, but she secretly hoped the hunter was mistaken. She would have to be careful of what she said in front of the king. She did not want to incriminate Collier if she could avoid it.