The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(65)
The creature’s jaws snapped at the kishion, and she heard him call out in pain as its teeth bit into his side and lifted him off the ground.
“No!” Maia screamed, holding out her hands and welling up more power. She had to conquer the beast. But how? The wind screamed and howled, mirroring her anger and frustration as the Fear Liath began dragging the kishion away, his blood smearing and steaming the snow.
Argus snagged at the kishion’s boot, snarling and tugging, trying to keep the man from being dragged away. The beast did not slow its pace.
Maia screamed in rage, watching as her protector was ripped away from her. Her mind went black with murder, and thunder crackled in the clear sky above. Still, the Fear Liath slumped off into the fog, dragging the kishion’s body with it. Argus could not master the beast’s strength and had to release the boot cuff.
Maia sagged to her knees, her eyes burning. From the fog darted silver-furred beasts, timber wolves, who rushed at the Fear Liath and began snapping at it savagely. The howling she was hearing was not only from the wind. It was the sound of wolves. The pack surrounded the gargantuan creature, challenging it for its prey with snarls and snaps. The commotion was deafening, and Maia watched in surprise as the wolves attacked the Fear Liath. She felt the Myriad Ones all around her, snuffling and sniffing at her, drawn to the spilled blood. The sky was suddenly full of bats, fluttering from the trees and sky like an arrow cloud.
The wolves tormented the Fear Liath until it whirled and struck, bringing its savage claws around and impaling one wolf after another. Its teeth tore into their ranks, but their numbers were astonishing—whenever one fell, another filled the gap, howling and barking and snarling.
Maia could not believe the sight unfolding before her, but there was Argus, dragging the kishion through the snow, away from the fray and toward them. Jon Tayt huffed forward and hefted the man over his shoulder as if the kishion were a wounded stag, then barreled away from the scene like a man intent on preserving his life. Maia rose from the crushed snow and ran after them, witness to the ferocity of the battle between the creatures of the forest and the Fear Liath. As she ran down the trail, trying not to stumble, she saw another pack coming in to reinforce the first, then another. The howling filled the night sky, and she realized that she had summoned them to her aid with the kystrel’s magic.
She remembered Walraven’s study again—the avalanche of mice and rats. The ability to bend another creature to your will—even unto death—was a terrible power. It was an awesome power. The wolves and bats had known no thought other than to do her bidding.
A huge roar sounded behind her. It was the roar of a predator whose prey had escaped it.
When Colvin first taught me about kystrels, he admitted he would have ripped one from my neck had he discovered it to be the source of my power. I still remember the fear in his voice as he described their powers to me. When a hetaera has given hers to a man to use, she becomes even more deadly. There is power unleashed when the emotions of a man and a woman mingle as one. Her influence can continue to grow undetected. I give you this as a sign that the hetaera have returned. The abbeys will begin to burn. So it was in my day.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Cruix Abbey
Maia knelt on the hard flat rock and slit part of her cloak with a dagger. Jon Tayt worked feverishly to dress the kishion’s wounds, blood staining his thick fingers. The kishion writhed and groaned, but he did not struggle against the ministrations, not even when the hunter produced a stubby needle to puncture his skin. He was given an arrow to clamp between his teeth, which he did, grunting with agony as the wound in his ribs was knit closed. Maia felt her cheeks drain of blood, but she could not take her eyes off the man. How she admired him for enduring the hardship of pain with such courage.
“Ach, it is deep,” Jon Tayt muttered darkly. “A few more stitches. Maia, hold his legs down!”
They were still in the mountains, but they had not stopped their flight until they were far from the Fear Liath’s lair. The scene in front of Maia was such a strange contrast—the sun shone brightly in the morning sky and birds flitted around harmlessly; the view from the rocky bluff where the kishion lay thrashing was dazzling. Jon Tayt worked with brutal efficiency, knowing how to apply pressure to ease the bleeding and how to suture the wounds with gut and needle.
Maia held down the kishion’s legs at his knees, but he fell still. She glanced up at his face, fearing he was dead, and saw that he had only lost consciousness. His chest rose and fell fitfully.
“Thank Idumea,” Jon Tayt growled. “Oblivion is the best remedy for pain. Did you see how deep the creature’s teeth gashed him? Ach.” He leaned back on his ankles, wiping his dripping nose on his forearm. “What he needs is a healer, Maia. This wound will infect, I have no doubt it will.”
“But will he live?” she asked, coming around and pushing two fingers against the throbbing at his throat.
“Who can say? Death comes for us all. Took a nasty gash on his arm. Let me try some woad on that to help stop the bleeding. Grab some from my pack. It’s in a leather pouch the size of my hand, stained blue at the mouth.”
Jon Tayt continued to work on closing and bandaging the wound in the kishion’s side while Maia hunted through the pack until she found the woad. It had already been ground into powder, and she dipped her fingers into the bag and began smearing it on the claw wounds across his skin. The fabric around the cuts was stained with blood.