The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(29)
Suzenne, on the other hand, looked increasingly worried by his rash words, his hunger to fight. As she walked alongside him, her fingers knotted together and he fidgeted.
Maia gave Dodd a probing look. “You have trained to be a soldier?” she asked.
“I have trained with the sword,” he answered, his tone ruffled. “My older brothers sparred with me.”
“But do you know anything of military tactics or of how to provision soldiers? Soldiers who do not eat do not fight.”
“Well, no, but I have read stories about armies in the tomes. I think if I left Muirwood and went to Forshee, many would rally to me as they did to Garen Demont.”
Maia shook her head. “But Garen Demont was a seasoned battle commander, was he not? He had fought with his father at Maseve. During his exile, he fought in foreign wars. People rallied to him because he knew what he was doing.”
“Are you calling me a fool then?” he challenged.
“Of course not, Dodd. I am seeing if you are speaking with your heart or with your head. Before you lead men to their deaths, you must first exhaust all other options. War should be a last resort.”
She could tell Dodd was not taking her words kindly, but she could not regret them. “So you are saying,” he said through clenched teeth, “that we must continue to submit to your father’s authority, even if he breaks all oaths and covenants?”
They were approaching the hunter’s lodging now. It was a comfortable little dwelling nestled in a grove of oak trees with a pen nearby to house horses. As they advanced, they could hear the sharp crack of an axe splitting wood. A paltry drizzle of smoke came from the chimney atop the thick thatched roof.
“You have no confidence in me,” Dodd said petulantly as they neared the dwelling.
Maia stopped and faced him. “Please do not say that,” she said, touching his arm. “I have sympathy for your situation, Dodd. Truly I do. Remember that I was there when your father spoke up to mine. Although what he said was true, your father may, even now, regret acting so rashly. If you are going to confront a king with his armies, his vast treasury, and his anointing, it should be done from a position of strength. Even Garen Demont was surprised by how quickly the king summoned an army to repel his invasion. There is wisdom in counseling with others who are on your side. Do not feel as if you have to act alone.”
Dodd just nodded, seemingly at a loss for words, and Maia led them around the side of the dwelling. They found Jon Tayt standing amidst a huge pile of split lumber, his face glistening with sweat. The axe swept down again, a powerful stroke that shattered the log and sent fragments clattering in all directions.
Argus was nestled by the hut, and when Maia and the others came into view, the boarhound leaped up and charged Maia with frantic wags of its tail. She dropped to her knees and embraced the dog, fending off its pink tongue as best she could.
“Chut, Argus!” Jon Tayt growled in jest. “She is not your master. I am!” He flicked his meaty wrist and effortlessly stuck the axe blade into the splitting stump. “By Cheshu, you are spoiling the dratted beast! Every time you leave, lass, I have to kick him repeatedly to earn his respect again and keep him from pining after you. Ungrateful cur.”
Maia went up and hugged the sweaty hunter, ignoring the reek. He had bits of bark in his beard and his retreating copper locks were damp with perspiration too. He mopped his forehead on a red scarf and stuffed it back into his belt.
“I got your message; now which of these two needs my advice?” he asked Maia, shoulder to shoulder with her and sizing up Dodd and Suzenne. “Ach, do not they look like a pair of forlorn lovebirds. Druwy un glust ac druwy relall. Advice most needed is the least heeded, as they say in Pry-Ree.”
Dodd and Suzenne both went scarlet with mortification.
“Never mind my jesting,” Jon Tayt said, breaking into a grin. “I know you did not come here for lessons in love. I, a sworn bachelor, would be poorly officed to help you with that. It was the lad you wanted me to speak with, Lady Maia?”
“Yes,” she said, scratching behind Argus’s ears as he sat dutifully next to her, panting.
“Well, we talk as we work,” Jon Tayt said. He plucked the axe from the stump and tossed it to Dodd, who caught it in surprise. Jon Tayt sniffed and walked over, pulling up another round of wood and dropping it on the stump. “Go ahead, lad. Break it up.”
Dodd stared at the hunter in amazement, hefting the axe awkwardly in his hands. “You want me to cut wood?”
“By Cheshu, do you have wax in your ears? There are chores to be done! Break it in half. Go, lad. The wood will not cut itself.” He dug his thumbs into his wide belt and watched as Dodd approached the round. Gripping the axe, the younger man moved around the stump and then stopped in front of it, standing with feet apace, and hefted the axe over his head.
“That is not the proper stance,” Jon Tayt said, waving at him. “You will knock yourself over. Feet apart this way, one in front of the other. You are going to use your legs, your hips, your shoulders, and your arms. Starts in your back foot over there.” He walked up to Dodd and adjusted his hips to show him how to grip the axe. Dodd looked uncomfortable, obviously unused to such work, as he corrected his stance.
“Now, you are going to try and aim the blade here,” Jon Tayt said, pointing to the base of the block. “You do not aim for the top of it. You want the blow to go all the way through it. Start the swing way back. Then up and over your head. Every muscle goes into it. Big wide swing. Give it a go, lad.”