The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(80)

Hautland

They were trapped in a cocoon of cold. Maia shivered, snuggled her head against Argus’s damp pelt, and tucked in her legs. She could not feel her toes—any of them. Drips of water from the ice plopped in the small pan that Jon Tayt had set out to collect drinking water. She could not remember ever being so miserable and cold, even in the attic room of Lady Shilton’s manor. Her hair was stiff with ice and it crackled as she moved.

Jon Tayt snored softly, sitting up against the curved wall of the snow cave, his gloved hands resting on his belly. His nose was ruddy, but he had a contented look on his face. His cap was askew on his head, revealing his balding pate through the loose curls of his coppery hair. She stared at him, feeling a mixture of tenderness and humor. He was so unflappable and surly. Without his help, she would not have made it to the mountains bordering Hautland. She suddenly wanted to laugh. All her life she had wanted to travel and visit the other kingdoms, but she had expected to visit them as a princess, not a fugitive.

An especially loud snore came from his mouth and he startled himself awake. His gray-green eyes blinked open and searched the pure whiteness. Maia tried to hide her smile, but he caught her.

“Glad to see I amuse you, my lady,” he said gruffly. He shifted in the cave, twisting his shoulders around to loosen them, then flexed his arms and fingers. “Was I snoring?”

Maia’s smile broadened. “A little.”

He was abashed. “I fell asleep without watching your rest. At least we did not endanger anyone else. Did you have another dream?”

She shook her head. “It was too cold to sleep.” During the night, she had not felt the awareness of the Myriad One inside her. Perhaps it did not relish experiencing the human penchant for suffering the elements.

Jon Tayt bent forward and examined the hole he had carved to get them inside. “It snowed shut. We need more air,” he grumbled. After withdrawing an arrowhead, he jammed it into the snowpack above their heads and knifed it viciously upward a few times. Slush sprinkled down on them and Argus whined, but Jon shushed him. A few more pokes and they both heard the gush of air from above. Jon Tayt stowed the arrow away, then craned his neck at the hole and gazed up.

“Sky is blue. The storm is over.”

“Thank Idumea,” Maia said, brushing her arms. She lifted the pan of water and took a small sip. The water was frigid, but it helped soothe her thirst. She offered it to the hunter and then the boarhound, who finished it. Jon Tayt stowed his gear, hefted one axe and handed her another, and they both began chopping their way out of the snow cave.

As they emerged, Maia gazed in wonder at the crystalline expanse of the snow-clad range before her. It was impressive beyond words, the hulking crags of rock decorated with fresh snow. The air had a bite to it that stung her nose when she breathed, and she gently blew on her hands to try and warm them with her breath.

“Look there,” Jon Tayt muttered gravely.

She gazed around the destruction of their cave, but he was directing her gaze elsewhere. While she had been giving the majestic peaks her attention and admiration, Jon Tayt had been examining the ground. Now she could see, plain as day, the trampled ruts of boots. They were everywhere along the pass, cutting a swath from the way they had come and continued down the slope into Hautland.

“Persistent badgers,” Jon Tayt groused. “They nearly trampled over our camp as well. They were right on top of us without knowing it.” He chuckled darkly. “If one had wandered over here, he would have come crashing through.” He sniffed and pointed. “They are ahead of us now, lass.”

“Is that a problem or a blessing?” Maia asked.

“Both. It will be easier to hide our trail by walking over theirs. However, if we keep following their trail, it will lead us to no safe place.” He scouted the area, examining the size of the prints. She watched and waited as he worked to divine the signs. “Ach, at least thirty men. Mayhap forty.” He wiped his nose. “I do not like the odds of that.”

“At least they are not coming from behind us.”

He shook his head. “Cannot judge that either, lass. If I were hunting us, and granted not many men are as clever, I would not bring everyone in a mass. I would send a group behind to follow the trail.” He dipped his fingers into a snowy boot print. “These tracks are fresh. They may well double back and catch us in between them.”

“So going back would be equally dangerous as going forward.”

“Danger no matter what we do.”

Maia sighed. “We need to get to the port city of Rostick in two days. There will be a ship waiting for us.”

“A ship? And how did you conjure that, my lady?” He looked at her skeptically.

She did not want to explain the nature of her connection with Feint Collier and so she did not. She moved some of her frozen hair out of her face. “Which way do we go?”

He pointed with the axe down the mountain.




Huge pine and cedar trees crept up from the lower slope of the Watzholt, and the trail disappeared into it. The trees were blanketed in fresh snow and the branches drooped, but lower down the storm had only brought rain, and the trees were vibrant green and lush.

“I like not the look of that,” Jon Tayt muttered, standing at the edge of a rock looking down the trail into the maw of the woods. “Good place for a trap. They could see us coming down, but we would not see them until it was too late.” He scratched his neck and gazed at the trail from different vantage points.