The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)
Jeff Wheeler
“There was never an angry man who thought his anger was unjust.”
—Richard Syon, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER ONE
Execution
Sanford Price was a bull of a man even in his sixtieth year, and his time as a prisoner in Pent Tower had not broken him. He was tall, fit, and had a restless energy that drove him to pace and mutter to himself—habits that annoyed the sons who shared his prison. He had been the Earl of Forshee and a member of the Privy Council until his title and lands had been stripped away for his outspoken denunciation of the King of Comoros’s bad example to the realm. As if being stripped of his birthright were not punishment enough, the king’s guard had arrested and imprisoned him.
He did not regret his words, which were true.
What he did regret was that he had not realized how vengeful the king was or how far he had fallen from his maston oaths. And he regretted that his words had not only impacted himself, but also his sons. They had been one of the premier Families in power, reputation, and wealth. While the earldom had been stripped from him, Sanford knew that the people in his Hundred were loyal to the man, not the rank. Yes, another might be parading the title in his place, but if Sanford Price were to escape Pent Tower and ride north, all would see the meaning of true loyalty.
The prison that held him and his sons had once been furnished to house nobility. Traditionally, the highborn who were punished were still allowed splendid food, comfortable clothes, and occasional privileges like hawking or hunting. That had changed under the rule of King Brannon. The chambers had been converted into dungeons more terrible than a bleak underground cavern would be. From the towers one could see the parks, the river, the bustle and jostle of the markets beyond the palace walls. To view the frenzy of life but not be able to participate in it—that was a mental torture, to be sure. Pent Tower had been transformed into such a miserable place that the curtains had been removed for fear of fabric being used as ropes to escape through the windows. They were high enough up from the greenyard below that any attempt to descend would be fatal.
Sanford’s anger and brooding temperament were legendary, inherited from his forefather Colvin Price. His Family had a long history of valuing respect and duty, a legacy in which he took pride. As he had watched King Brannon flout the maston beliefs and customs at every turn, he had grown increasingly angry and restless. Someone needed to stand up to the man, and so Sanford had chosen himself to play that role, believing that if he did, others would follow his example.
It was shameful, truly, that a king would seek to disavow his lawful wife, bound to him by irrevocare sigil, for a strumpet. He ground his teeth in anger and frustration. When sacred things were mocked, it would bring disaster upon the realm.
And it had.
It reminded Sanford, darkly, of the days of his ancestor. Colvin had lived under the reign of a brutal king as well. The one man who had dared to stand up to him, Sevrin Demont, had been killed in battle. His son, Garen Demont, had continued the rebellion and eventually defeated the cruel king at a field called Winterrowd.
He stopped by the window, brooding, rubbing strands of his growing gray beard. Did there come a time when rebellion was the only course of action left to men of honor? Colvin had felt that emotion. He had joined Garen Demont’s rebellion against the king after learning that mastons were being secretly murdered throughout the realm. The king and his hetaera wife had sought to destroy the maston order subtly. Even though joining the rebellion had meant risking his own life and the future of his sister, Colvin had not hesitated.
Had such a time come to Comoros? An evil king could cause much suffering. If Sanford managed to escape Pent Tower, or—if the Medium willed it—he was set free, was this the moment to start a civil war? War always brought death, disease, and suffering for the people. Though the loss of his rank, wealth, and position was felt grievously, this was not about regaining what he had personally lost. It was about justice. It was about fairness. It was about the rule of law.
The rage smoldered inside of him. Four of his sons were trapped in the tower with him. Two of them—Tobias and Mennion—had been forced to part with their wives. Tobias had a baby who did not know his father’s face. He had heard they were all living in a cottage deep in Forshee, where they endured the persecution of the new earl. A sympathetic guard brought occasional reports, so at least they knew their Family was not going hungry. Many of the villagers throughout the Hundred regularly brought them cheese, sheep, and cows. Sanford himself had been known as a stern but compassionate earl; he had always erred on the side of giving too much instead of too little.
“You look angry, Father,” said his firstborn, Tobias. He joined him at the window and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I was thinking about our womenfolk,” he replied. “It is unjust that they suffer for my words.”
“When I think on how the king treats his own daughter,” Tobias said, “I can hardly be surprised that he treats us so ill.”
“Yes, he treats his daughter shamefully, but this is not how you reward loyal service. His actions encourage sycophants,” said Mennion from the trestle table where he was scooping up the remains of their breakfast. He was always hungry.
“Anyone who served him honestly was put to shame,” Tobias said. “Look no further than the Privy Council. None of the older advisors are left.”