The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(7)
They paused to rest briefly; Maia needed to preserve her flagging strength. Her legs itched from the continuous scratches and slashes from the poking undergrowth. Her ankles were swollen. She breathed hard, feeling her heartbeat pound in her ears.
“How far do you think they are?” Maia said with a wheeze.
The kishion shook his head, gazing ahead, not behind. “They will need to stop and rest eventually. But let us keep walking, even if we walk all night. It will be harder to track us, which will slow them down. They do not know our destination, do they?”
Maia shook her head. “They cannot. And Naess is the last place they would ever expect us to go.”
He grabbed her arm, signaling the rest was over, and they continued to plunge through thick woods and dense scrub. Thirst was a continuous torment. Neither had dared to drink from the bracken ponds they encountered, knowing the water would be as poisoned as the land they traveled through, and Maia could not take the risk of seeking another waymarker. Not when Corriveaux could be lurking by one again, waiting for such an opportunity. No, they had to blind the Dochte Mandar to their presence and their path. Make them trudge in the dark and jab sticks into every bush.
What they needed was their own hunter, someone who could disguise their trail. Someone who knew the land and its secret places. Someone who could be trusted. The greatness of their need pounded through Maia as they continued to forge their way. She fixed her heart on it, pushing the fierce, focused thought into the aether: I need a hunter. I need a guide.
A gust of wind blew into her eyes, almost as if in response to her pleading thoughts. She did not know if it was the Medium.
Before nightfall, she realized that it really was.
When I was a wretched living in Muirwood Abbey, a strange fellow named Maderos told me a tale about the hill near the abbey, the one we called the Tor. A crew of warriors from the north came. Not men from the seven kingdoms, but from a land of dark pools and steep firths. These warriors came on painted boats to conquer our lands. They massacred a small village along a lake near the abbey and came marching to Muirwood itself. The Aldermaston raised his hands, and a hill from a surrounding area lifted from the ground, hovered over the enemies of the abbey, and then plummeted down, smashing them into oblivion. Some of the attackers survived, great-granddaughter. They fled back to their dark land and warned of the inhabitants of the seven kingdoms and the awful power of the Medium when provoked. What you need to understand is that these people, the Naestors, came and inhabited the lands that we forsook. They are a cunning, warlike people. When the mastons return again to the seven kingdoms of Comoros, Pry-Ree, Dahomey, Hautland, Mon, Avinion, and Paeiz, they will discover an eighth kingdom has claimed all that we abandoned. Though they will feign friendship, they will not trust you. They will fear you. They will bring back the Dochte Mandar. Be wary.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER THREE
Argus
They smelled the chimney smoke first, just the hint of it on the air. Before long, the plumes became visible and directed their course. With Maia’s tired legs aching from the rocky climb, they crested the snow-spattered ridgeline and gazed down at a village nestled along the shores of a small lake. The crags of the mountains were steep and full of cracked shale and broken stone, making the footing treacherous and difficult. The sky held wisps of fleecy cloud that passed over them, blocking the sun for moments as they gazed down at the tiny hamlet. Maia noticed that many of the pine trees along the crest and down the slope were dead, the bark turned to silver with little protruding stubs. She rubbed her hands on the smooth, graying bark and gazed down at the village. Her stomach growled enviously at the thought of the provisions they might find there.
The kishion looked back the way they had come, watching for signs of pursuit, then returned his gaze down the slope to the hamlet.
“No more than twenty stone hovels down there,” he said disdainfully. “Not much by way of help.”
“Yes, but my legs are weary, and we need water and food,” Maia said. She winced, her knees aching from the arduous climb. “Even if we sleep in the brush, it is better to move forward. Maybe someone down there knows the land. They could help us find the way.”
“Or give us trouble instead,” he said gruffly. “The village is too small for a garrison, so we need not fear meeting the king’s men. At the least there are fires to keep warm. The ground is treacherous, Lady Maia. Hold my hand as we descend.”
She was grateful she did, for several times her boots slid on the crushed shale, causing rocks to patter down the winding trail or scatter off the edge of the cliffs. Her heart pounded with fear and exhaustion as they traversed the winding switchbacks into the valley.
She admired the seclusion of the place, the rugged privacy that kept it away from the rest of the land. There were no obvious roads in or out, but as they walked down the ridge, they encountered a small footpath that had been trampled amidst the brush and debris—proof that the villagers below were used to climbing up to the peaks. The sun was beginning to set, and the gusts of wind were violent enough to chill them to the bone, causing Maia to grip the kishion’s hand more firmly as she maneuvered her way down.
They had encountered a number of strange plants and wildlife along the trek into the mountains, but the feeling in the air had begun to change as they painstakingly made their way downward. Since landing off the storm-ridden coast of Merohwey, the land had felt cursed and inhospitable. But the feeling was beginning to dwindle now that they had crossed this cracked range of gray, shattered rock, and the normal signs of deer and fox began to present themselves. The music of birds chirping came as a welcome sound to her ears. There was a subdued feeling, a quiet hope in her heart. Even though the Dochte Mandar were chasing them, she did not feel quite so desperate.