The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(41)

Walraven bowed his head, as if anticipating the blow that would come.

“I know,” the old man said softly. “First the Hand. Then Gastone. I knew it was you, Corriveaux. Yet I still came here, into the bowels of the fortress.” He turned his head slightly, angling it toward where Corriveaux lurked in the shadows.

“You did not run.”

Walraven coughed and chuckled. “I am an old man, Corriveaux Tenir. Running is no longer an ability I possess. I do not wish to rule the Victus as you do. You impressed me from the start with your ambition and—”

“Do not flatter me!” Corriveaux seethed. “One of the Victus betrayed us. It is no accident that the High Seer and the girl escaped. They must have received help from within. It was you or it was me. No one else was around.”

“Have you not considered that it may have been the Medium?” Walraven asked with a hint of challenge in his voice.

Corriveaux frowned, his feelings churning uneasily inside him. “I do not believe that.”

“Of course not, or I would not be standing here in front of you about to be murdered.”

Corriveaux lunged at him. He wrapped his arm around the old man’s neck, jerking him off balance. Though he grunted with pain and toppled backward, Walraven kept his hands open and spread, not resisting the crushing force around his neck. Corriveaux jabbed the dagger blade against the old man’s spine, but still he did not resist. Instead, he hissed through his teeth and sunk to his wobbling knees, his posture still submissive.

“Do you not want to live, Walraven?” Corriveaux whispered in his ear.

A pent-up breath was released, followed by a twisting sigh of pain and discomfort. “I am old, my friend. If it would make you feel better to kill me, go ahead. You can summon my spirit into the dark pools if you have any questions. I told you already, I do not seek your place and never have.”

Corriveaux hesitated. It would be so easy to finish it now. A dagger thrust would kill Walraven and end his worries. This had long been the way of the Victus. But what if Walraven were not a traitor? He would be executing a man whose wisdom and connections would benefit him later, especially in a battle with Comoros.

“I should kill you,” Corriveaux whispered.

“If I have ceased being useful to you.”

Slowly, Corriveaux released the grip around Walraven’s neck. He let the old man slump to the ground, breathing in heavy gasps to return the air to his lungs.

“Give me your signet ring,” Corriveaux said.

Still wheezing and breathing hard, Walraven eased himself up on his knees. He twisted the ring off his finger and reached out to hand it over.

“I suppose we will see if you are right,” Corriveaux continued. “If the Medium is what rescued the High Seer and her blighted granddaughter, you will be vindicated if it saves them again. For now, I will hold you prisoner until this is over and Comoros is left desolate. I will send word in your name,” he continued, holding up the ring. “And we will see how your servants respond. Let us see . . . I believe I shall summon the High Seer to meet you in Hautland. If she comes, then I will know you are in league with her. I will command Fox to do mischief as well. We will see whether or not he obeys.” He smiled darkly. “I have already dispatched a second kishion to Comoros.”

Walraven’s bleary eyes widened slightly. “You did?”

“Yes, of course. The renegade must be destroyed. But I also sent a kystrel with him. The girl’s kystrel. He will give it to someone who can carry on the work we started. Someone we have already prepared. When the armada arrives, Comoros will be so fraught with discord they will be unable to defend themselves against us. They will distrust each other so much even the Medium will forsake them. The Void will destroy Comoros, Walraven. And we will usher it into being by destroying the High Seer herself.”

Walraven’s countenance slowly calmed and took on a more placid look. “Thank you for sparing me, Corriveaux. Let me assist you, to prove my loyalty to the Victus. I will write the letters as you instruct. They will come from my hand and bear my symbol. You only need to tell me what you wish me to say.”

“You would cooperate?” Corriveaux said with surprise, looking askance at the man crumpled on the floor. “After the way I have treated you?” He knew that when a man was threatened with death, it scarred him for life. The trust between them was shattered.

“I must prove myself to you,” Walraven said.

Corriveaux shook his head. “No, my friend. From this day forward, we must ever be enemies. You will not relish being in the dungeons. But it is better than being a corpse.”

Pulling his boot back, Corriveaux kicked Walraven in the ribs, hard enough to snap the bones. The older man gasped with pain and crumpled over, writhing on the ground. Turning the dagger over in his hand, Corriveaux slammed the hilt down on Walraven’s skull. The action filled him with a sense of power. He could feel the Myriad Ones filling the chamber, snuffling around the body prostrate on the ground. A madness seized him then, an irrepressible madness to hurt and destroy.





When the guards later dragged Walraven’s body to the dungeon cell, they wondered how the crushed old man was even breathing.





I must often remind myself that my enemy is a young woman not even twenty years old. All people are corruptible if the right device can be employed. We have tempted her with riches, and she rejected them. We have tempted her with love, and she demurred. But I recall now the wise words of one maston. Youth is easily deceived because it is quick to hope. We will tempt her with hope, and then we will crush it.